whilst those in a torpor
tend to parry the capricious,
those with vigour,
invite the flighty 'n ambitious,

but as in all themes,
these two extremes
have a golden mean
that lies in-between

the middle way is to move with grit
along a forethought plan,
when things get hard, not to quit,
but stride with resolve as a man.

a smile is the crack that lets the sunshine through,
it shines for others and it'll shine back at you
so however you're feeling, let that sunshine through
it'll make you feel better, fresh and sleek and new.

i found Him 'neath rhododendron bush in sheltered, dark enclave
i found Him in the verdant field that swallowed crimson sun
i found Him once on top of fell overlooking veiled concave
i found Him all by myself in place where walketh no one

i whispered words of no-thing-ness, timeless and eternal,
i captured time in a flask upon those pastures vernal,
and when i'm decrepit, dried-out leaf, tired of ties fraternal,
i hold that flask to my lips and drink elixir immortal.

Sinking, drifting out so far
How I wonder where you are
Once a world that aimed so high
Now curled up and ready to die
Twinkle, twinkle, little star
How I wonder what you are

there was a time when colours ran deep,
when men lived in purpose,
when myth was more than little Bo Peep,
or a child's dinosaurumpus.

a time when matters mannered,
reflection of inner core,
before the world was shattered
and with it, the enchanted door

the ship has lost its anchor,
the captain's not to be seen,
sailors - blind - flounder,
humanity's in guillotine.

twisted, gnarled, bent he stood,
ebony brown, of burled wood,
humble creature of tortured form,
hillside weathered through life of storm

battered by the highland gales
that swept the sweet and sunny dales,
contorted by the skies' assails
that hit and pounded as wind to sails

crushed, not broken, zoetic substance
gave new meaning to reluctance
as it withstood those blasts of dread
that left its brothers broken 'n dead

i lent against its ancient bark
to hear its secret of immortality
how to survive when all is dark
when you be victim of brutality

i heard its voice in rustled leaf,
in soft breeze and zephyr,
perchance the whisper of forest nymph
or murmur of the satyr

its voice was as a swaying sheaf,
its song was joy and not of grief,
its message true, profound and brief,
shibboleth that is nature's motif

it whispered of that low, sweet root,
from which all heavenly virtues shoot,
"The bending low before the brute
enabled me give forth my fruit".