THE CALL OF GENIUS

Genius wakes trembling
From its deeply-troubled sleep
' I've a gift that I can't describe
Can I this something keep?'

The call of genius from an unknown realm
That which breaks the mould of the owner's past and mind
Its imagination encircles and encompasses the universe entire--
Ideas, images, figures, patterns and shapes of every kind.

'Am I real or am I in a dream?
I seem to have lost what I was in the past
Life and people are strange and the world seems to have changed
Whom and what can I trust?'

What is genius and where is its abode?
Who can its mystery decipher ?
A question even the owner can't answer--
He walks, often sadly, as a loner.

WINTER RAIN*

The winter rain has swept through the brown coastal sand
An opaque mist broods over the distant sky
The last seagull takes its frantic flight
A tiny boat is trembling in the waters nearby.

Despondent trees are bowing to the angry wind
Leaves of red and gold scatter all over in the bitter-cold air
The anxious farmer has locked his barn
In the village none is seen in the thoroughfare.

The storm is heard brewing
The forests are darkening
The evening is deepening
The homeless and destitute are moaning.

For whom is that woman at the pier waiting?
Why are tears in her eyes gathering?
Why am I alone in the rain still lingering?
What story is my heart telling?

• Most of it written in the train when travelling to and back from Castlemaine in regional Victoria, Australia—
the rain inspired this.

A STRANGE DREAM

I had a strange dream last night.
A wise man said to me so:
‘ There are only two words
  In life that you need to know’.

‘What would that be, sire?’
  The sage stroke his white beard and this he did say:
   ‘ Yes and no’ with a chuckle
    Now, I have promises to keep,  you must go your way’.

MY RELIGION

My religion bears no name
Carved in  the depth of my heart it speaks not ,
only replays
Past scenes that made me weep-
(Long forgotten and loneliest of days)

Their spectre they do raise still-
What I  am now and was
Becomes the testament of my faith
In silence I once bore my cross

But I would not count as my loss
All that had  filtered through my life
I resurrected from my ruins
Unburdened every load and overcome every strife.

For clemency I beseech not
Though I recognise I am most unworthy
My religion is the mirror of my life
The very face of my own humanity.

MAN’S INHUMANITY

There’s so much anger around
tolerance is a long-forgotten word, sadly-
and I begin to wonder in the silence of my heart
whether there’s any hope in humanity

anger, rage, frenzy, then hate
the will of  such people must be obeyed
society stands on shaky ground
compassion and charity is dead

to what are we humans born
but that we should kindness show?
goodness no longer rings in ears
  the world is ruled by endless callousness and ego

what took wisdom many a century to build
hate can demolish in a moment of frenzy
everywhere we hear the cry of pain
and sense the demise of humanity.

LIFE: VIEWED FROM ANOTHER PERSPECTIVE

Near is far for the tired traveller
far is near for the heart in rapturous anticipation
leaving, arriving and waiting-
moments that make for life's equation

regret comes too late for those
who don't embrace love when it's present
only to yearn, sigh and weep
when love is absent

IF TEARS HAVE THE POWER OF SPEECH

If tears have the power of speech
every single word they utter
would melt the hardest heart
(tears--they don't lie)
purity drawn from life's river of sorrow
every drop unblemished
truth has nothing to hide

it's as though
a new vocabulary
has appeared with tears
a language beyond
the sufferer's reach

tears -they don't lie
let them flow
they know
the heart's every woe
and are the sufferer's proxy

they console
they cleanse
they redeem
they heal

because they don't lie
they transcend
all human foibles

their purity breeds
a new heart
which having been purged
by the crucible of pain
would not bleed again

THE WINGS OF LOVE

The wings of love, like those of the butterfly
are beautiful but so delicate and fragile---too easily crushed-
don't rush to stretch out your too-eager hand
they would disintegrate if tightly grasped.

Let love like the shy and silent  butterfly
glide gently over the faithful flower of your heart
it will dance in jubilance and make its home there
in that shared splendour it would never want to part.

THAT'S NOT FOR ME

Oh, no--that's not for me
this crowded mass-chatter
and clamour
of the market-place
(so many expectant faces
so eager to make quick deals
and enter into ' attractive' transactions-
money talks
titles are displayed
claims are loudly made)
' I am Sir Richard Bull--
Chairman of Rich & Pull
that's my Rolls--over there
yes,  can you see?'

the lust, the greed, the flattery
hands too ready to grasp-
the temptation is just too strong
opportunities not to be missed-
' Quick, quick before that item
is snatched by someone else'
(fortune favours the quick and the greedy)
the oozing of fake charms
' Oh, you made my day'
shoulder-rubbing
back-patting
even stranger-hugging (as long as there is gain)

here I don't belong
I want to be free

the noise drowns me
the air pollutes me
the smoke blinds my eyes
I must flee
before the contagion
seizes me

only one brief life
no more than a tiny fragile leaf
in the tree of nowhere
buffeted by wild winds
which shake and toss me everywhere
suspended in time
between the here and now
and the hazy time to come
I am but drift-wood
in the nameless sea
where would the gentle landing be?

only this I know-
tempus fugit- verily-
that which will bring
all things
to their final inexorability

and why should I
bother about that
which would bring me
but misery?

all that glitters is not gold
in the market-square
but dross and soot
dust and sand
(sadly most people don't understand)

I have saved myself
from this mindless debacle

to be free
is the only way
to be happy.

LIFE’S ETERNAL STORY

Enough has been said
Too much, indeed—no more--
The river of words has gone dry
All past words and deeds have been washed ashore.

Who then is the victor?
And who is the vanquished?
Even the mightiest and strongest
Have kissed the dust and into oblivion vanished.

Some say: life is a cheat and a thief
Others say: it is a sweet song
Yet there are others who are indifferent
Who then is right and who is wrong?

One sage says:
This is the way
Another derides
Ideological clashes never go away.

The poor have hope
The rich have fear
Who is happier-
What in life should one hold most dear?

Who are the foolish
And who are the wise?-tell me
Who is the judge?
But none is the authority.