Each moment; each thread in the fabric we call existence; is a precious gift.
Blessed or cursed, in hope or despair, we can only marvel at each passing second, minute, hour.....


Multi-faceted, fragrant and eye-wrenching life swirls around us, wreathed in sheer Humanity.

And so we dance the Dance of Life. When a crimson sunset concludes this day;
Days of grey, dreary and mired or Days of depth and mystery, whether lit up or clouded by rain;
We dance in this moment, dance in this day and dance the eternal Dance of Life.

Life at hand living out the plan,
It just might not be ours,
Is what we have to understand,
Everything happens as it should or it would not,
Happen at all is something I think everyone forgot,
It's not my plan? It's not my plan?,
Oh but it is blessed with free will as man,
And woman all the same theres noone to blame,
For our own misery,
So own your solution happily,
If something doesn't look right then change how you view,
You can see a different way if you want,
Theres really nothing to it,
Life isn't so bad once you become thankful,
There's lessons in life and they will make you feel tranquil,
So live your choice and rejoice at the chance,
To be alive and hear music and have a moment to dance.

There was an eerie quiet peacefulness
in the small sparsely furnished room.
The only sound that may have been heard
was of a solitary man wearing a brown robe
with the hood pushed carefully back in order
that his head would bared before God. He was
breathing in and out in a steady and relaxed way
as he occasionally and deliberately turned a page.

The man, perhaps in his sixties, one couldn’t tell
but for the age-worn hands that rested gently on a tome
before him. He was deep in thought and concentration
as he studied his Bible, something he did daily.
These were his moments of quiet contemplation,
but ones that he never shared, but with his God,
and upon finishing, he quickly rose and rejoined his Brothers.

He felt at Peace.

©Joe Wilson – In quiet contemplation 2014

School urges us
ever to accumulate
yet what dawns in
maturity is selectivity
not bulk - how I soon
began to seek white
chickens and essence
of red wheelbarrow
glazed with rain.

(c) C J Heyworth July 2014

One moment
One day
Just give me a reason
To ******* away

Just close your eyes
and feel it,
feel the warmth of his skin.
The mundane activities of life
pass you by unnoticed
because in this moment
there is nothing you want more,
nothing you’d rather be doing.
If only this moment would last.
Careless, only noticing your breathing
and the feel of the grass
as you trail your finger though it
And you know its yours.
Beauty beyond what you could imagine,
seeing it in everything, the light,
leaves, trees, him. Its all there
waiting for you.

On that tipsy floating dock All of us ran to the side
Trying to get as far as possible without tipping it or
Falling off.
Even though we were in our bathing suits...

I remember screaming

Then you reached
Your hand brushed my forearm
Your fingertips tickled my palm
And then intertwined with my fingers.
Then as we fell off
I grabbed your bicep

Why did you do that to me?
I'm a girl.
So I played that moment
Again and again and again and again
Like a song
That you don't hear anymore
After you listen to it too much.

But our hands I still
Remember.
Our hands.

I want to write a poem about
                    how
the poems I write are personal now.
I want to write a poem about
why this has become so.
I want to write a poem
explaining
                    how
everywhere my complaining is heard
through my type-work
my mind becomes a big ole ****
and shoots me down.
Ya know, I was once I flying bird.
Who could live outside of herself, while also bringing out the within
This
               is
                                too
                                            personal.
That I cannot r e s t, enjoy
the characters
I've created with the beater of my chest
or a song
or a quote
or a word.
                 instead
Into the paper I come out.
                               It
                    is
           too
personal.
When I cannot seem to
let it go
to let me go
and free my inner me's in pieces and in bits
instead.
Instead of dramatic fits, and murders of lines--
virtual ink inclined to think like me and respond
to this tip, tap tying.
Oh
I               am               too                 personal
With this bit, and that bit.
Of me.
And no more, do my stories reign
The randomness is replaced with madness or glee
whatever feeling I feel, in the poem
it is therefore connected to me.
I'm connected to every word.
I want to write a poem, that not speaking for me.
I want
             to write a poem.
I want
                    to write
I want
to              not

       be

so

personal.

Heart: This is hard for me to say, and I hope you don't panic. Don't panic. Please don't panic. We always panic.

Head: Why would I panic? You're speaking with redundancy. Just express yourself already.

Heart: Well, I don't know how to say this, and I know this will be tough on both of us, but you've got to remain calm.

Head: What is it? For the love of all things holy-

Heart: We're in love.

Head: Love? I thought we were done with all affairs of the heart for the time being. I thought you were shutting yourself down for a bit, and letting us just be free of these binds for awhile. You know this just always causes us unneeded pain.

Heart: It's different this time. It has to be different.

Head: Has to be? What sorts of ridiculousness do you speak of, my friend? Love doesn't have to be anything, but a terrifying void in which we have fallen in once, no twice, and barely made it out unscathed. Correction, we were not unscathed, we were scarred. We are scared. What do expect to come of this?

Heart: Its different. He's different.

Head: You said that about the last one.

Heart: He actually cares. He wants all of us, not just a part. The first wanted our body, the second wanted our smile. This one? He wants all of it.

Head: You're delusional. It will be no different, the outcome is simple mathematics. Us plus a boy equals utter chaos.

Heart: Its so different. He's the smile upon our face when we fall asleep to his final texts late at night, he is the hands running through our hair, he is the body curled up next to ours keeping us warm at night, he is the lips that beg us to live again. He's so different. He might just love us too.

Head: He's dangerous. Don't be an incompetent fool. It won't end well.

Heart: I don't care. We are in love with him.

Head: Well snap out of it.

Heart: Love doesn't work like that and you know it.

Head: Why would you stick around him after all the rumors you have heard, after all the fears in you, after all you have been through? Its illogical.

Heart: That's love for you.

Head: Don't be dumb.

Heart: Love that turns you stupid is the best kind. It makes your toes unable to touch the ground and you're flying. Can't you feel it?

Head: But I'm scared.

Heart: I know. But its worth being a little terrified.

Head: He could hurt us.

Heart: You knew that the second you got into this mess. You didn't care then, why care now?

Head: Because its serious now.

Heart: Why do you say that?

Head: Because we are in love with him.

Heart: Exactly. There was no moment like the last times when we absolutely knew, it came slowly but surely, each time he called us cute and sent us a good morning text and held our fingers close and kissed us like we were special. And then one day I woke up and realized, my god, I'm in love with this boy.

Head: It is so different. Why is it so different?

Heart: Because he's different. So different. That's why we're in love with him.

Head: We are in love with him.

Heart: And there's nothing we can do about it. So might as well jump in headfirst, right?

Head: Stupid. But we are going to do it anyway, are we not?

Heart: Now you're catching on.

Head: Love is stupid.

Heart: We're stupid.

Head: And we are in love with him.

Heart: And that's how it will be.

Head: For now, as long as these moments lasts.

Heart: That's all that matters.

Head: I hope they never end.

Heart: Me neither.