How do we stand
before the Almighty Being,
with outstretched hand,
or standing or kneeling?

How do we lift up our eyes
before the All-seeing?
Impossible, he sighs,
But it's eminently healing.

this morn full-stop appeared to me
(bowed low with great panache,
twinkled his eyes innocently
and twirled his neat moustache

and then loud he spoke up pertly,)
"one day", said he, "we'll meet",
"'not on your nelly'", said i, curtly,
and crushed him with my feet

he slid out as a comma does
and said, "okay, you win,
just don't make too much of a fuss
when i take you for a spin,

for now as comma, you surely know,
i cannot put an end,
your life will everlasting go,
and i, your humble friend,

will help you in eternal flow
will help you to ascend,
just slip out of your flesh torso,
and upwards we shall wend."

there he lay
at bottom of pit
eating hay
combined with spit

said i to he
"what did you do
for this cruel fate
to be meted you?"

"i was cerebral,"
he grunted back
"i had no heart
for those who lack"

i lived my life
engrossed in brain
no time for strife
for others' bane

it seems in heaven
they want the heart
so hay i'm given
like horse o' cart

i'm being shown
i was just like a steed
cos i never owned
one heartfelt deed

they washed with care her frail shell,
wrapped it in finest linens,
upon the sound of ponderous knell,
laid it upon their pinions.

at first the light too great to bear,
bade her rise through ether,
and swift she rose up through the air,
leaving Earth beneath her.

Wooden, stilted, they walked the walk,
Before the human trail,
Whom, in silence, made small talk,
In air of muted wail.

Myriad souls of yesteryear
smiled as if to greet her,
whilst others seemed to bear a tear
in standing there to meet her.

***** and shovel hit the earth
'fore pall was slowly lowered
in reverse of giving birth
in bed of pebbles bouldered

celestial court of judges three
convened assembly august
her life and deeds for all to see
in lights of golden stardust.

sheets and blankets of soil and clay
were draped over her casket,
wherein her silent body lay
as tissue cast in basket

her book of life was signed by her,
her thought and word and act,
the good desire and bad of fire,
soul in body's contract.

the mourners, friends, acquaintances,
lingered another moment,
before in solemn cadences,
left the ground's endowment.

her very own hand had her peached,
the walls of house bore witness,
her greed 'n avarice her impeached
proclaiming her unfitness.

'she was a good lady', they nodded sagely,
in deference to custom,
with wave and nod, a touch too gravely,
they left the palace o' bunkum.

I am the very model of a modern poet laureate,
I've information rhythmical, poetical and lexical,
I know the poets of our land and quote their plays historical,
From Macbeth to Much Ado, in order categorical;

I'm very well acquainted, too, with rhythm hendecasyllable,
I understand assonance and refrain octosyllable,
About pentameter theory I'm teeming with a lot o' news,
With many cheerful facts about the style of poet Edward Hughes.

I'm very good at couplets and at blank verse very fabulous;
I know the seventy-one plays ascribed to Aeschylus:
In short, in matters rhymical, poetical, and lexical,
I am the very model of a modern poet laureate.

I know our poem-history, Caedmon's Hymn to Chaucer's works;
I can cite bards' acrostics with volatility in my vocal box,
I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of Heliogabalus,
In dialect ionic I can cite Semonides of Amorgos;

I can tell undoubted Aratus from Aristeus and Sophocles,
I know the croaking chorus from The Frogs of Aristophanes!
Then I can hum a fugue of which I've heard the music's din afore,
And whistle all the airs from that infernal nonsense Pinafore.

Then I can write a decasyllable as a dactyl or tetrameter,
And tell you ev'ry detail of soliloquies in Shakespeare:
In short, in matters rhythmical, poetical, to elloquate,
I am the very model of a modern poet laureate.

In fact, when I know what is meant by a "septet" and a "sestet",
When I can tell at sight a literary from a prose effect,
When such affairs as odic and idyllic I'm more wary at,
And when I know precisely 'to be or not to be' by Danish "Hamlet".

When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern rhymery,
When I know more iambic than a novice in a nunnery
In short, when I'm audacious, vexatious and dilatory
You'll say a poet laureate has ne'er been so conciliatory.

For my alliteration knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury,
Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century;
But still, in matters rhythmical, poetical and etiquette,
I am the very model of a modern poet laureate.

I am the very model of a modern poet laureate,
I've information rhythmical, poetical and lexical,
I know the poets of our land and quote their plays historical,
From Macbeth to Much Ado, in order categorical;

I'm very well acquainted, too, with rhythm hendecasyllable,
I understand assonance and refrain octosyllable,
About pentameter theory I'm teeming with a lot o' news,
With many cheerful facts about the style of poet Edward Hughes.

I'm very good at couplets and at blank verse very fabulous;
I know the seventy-one plays ascribed to Aeschylus:
In short, in matters rhymical, poetical, and lexical,
I am the very model of a modern poet laureate.

I know our poem-history, Caedmon's Hymn to Chaucer's works;
I can cite bards' acrostics with volatility in my vocal box,
I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of Heliogabalus,
In dialect ionic I can cite Semonides of Amorgos;

I can tell undoubted Aratus from Aristeus and Sophocles,
I know the croaking chorus from The Frogs of Aristophanes!
Then I can hum a fugue of which I've heard the music's din afore,
And whistle all the airs from that infernal nonsense Pinafore.

Then I can write a decasyllable as a dactyl or tetrameter,
And tell you ev'ry detail of soliloquies in Shakespeare:
In short, in matters rhythmical, poetical, to elloquate,
I am the very model of a modern poet laureate.

In fact, when I know what is meant by a "septet" and a "sestet",
When I can tell at sight a literary from a prose effect,
When such affairs as odic and idyllic I'm more wary at,
And when I know precisely 'to be or not to be' by Dane "Hamlet".

When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern rhymery,
When I know more iambic than a novice in a nunnery
In short, when I'm audacious, vexatious and dilatory
You'll say a poet laureate has ne'er been so conciliatory.

For my alliteration knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury,
Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century;
But still, in matters rhythmical, poetical and etiquette,
I am the very model of a modern poet laureate.

cooped up 'neath the blackened sky
of dark winter night
i'll allow my mind to fly
on a fantasy flight

i'll trace my fingers over blades
of grasses wet with dew
i'll gaze over vistas' glades
shades of purple-blue

i'll breathe in honey'd heather
and hear the buzz of bees
i'll thank G-d for the weather
and the fresh new mountain breeze

i'll jump from autumn into spring
be struck with wonder at daffodils'
sunshine 'neath the children's swing,
purple crocuses on foothills

hush to hear the robin sing,
the blackbird and the thrush's sweet trill,
see the flash of jaybird's wing,
the goldfinch and his black-tipped bill

there's no end to the memories
you can visit, you can roam,
for the mind is a house of treasuries
so don't just stay cooped-up at home

don't wait for the summertime
to feel the joy 'n thrill
of a healthy mountain climb
a walk or hike on hill

close your eyes and picture too
the jewel'd lakes and tarns of blue
fill yourself with fascination
imaginary thoughts and their sensation

how does soul sound,
what does it say,
beneath battle ground
of worldly fray?

does it speak in rhyme
like undulant time
a harmonious beat
of melody sweet
granting accession
to highest heaven?

is its music deeper
than the ocean's depth
with knowledge greater
than knowledge's breadth?

does it shame angels
with its tune?

or is it silent
as the moon
as from Divine
G-d's throne hewn

impervious to all
worldly pursuit
the trash 'n scuttlebutt
of soul-*******

defies all inquiry,
endeavour and quest
to hear its mystery
eternally blest

in every drop, an angel
a guard from shadow baneful
in every rain, there's life
saviour from famine 'n strife

in every blade o' grass
holiness transparent like glass
stone and dust too
G-d animates you

but each man and woman
is a universe of G-dliness
to every single human
inestimable Providence

if in grain of sand
one sees G-d's Hand,
in human being
is G-d's very Being.

Some say jealousy is human nature,
some say it comes from ego,
others point to culture
dressed up in smart tuxedo

i say its source is ignorance
not knowing your own worth
and that makes all the difference
knowing you're precious on Earth

its opposite is not indifference
its antithesis is not compersion
if one seeks from this vice deliverance
its antidote is introversion.

but there's no need to be a hermit
to live on tropical island
to run from life or to quit,
look within! 'n find your diamond

yesterday i saw a guy
looked all human too,
facsimile of you and I,
had learnt a thing or two

but his soul had gone away
left him rotting through
outside, sure, he looked okay
inside was askew

for morality had doffed its hat
waived to him at gate
now for years his heart closed shut
his god obliterate

and as the massive star collapsed
creating blackest void
the evil grew and grew and waxed
till ethics all destroyed

i saw a guy yesterday
not at all like you
typical of the modern sway
unbridled lust worldview

now the centre of society
is all-******* hole
it laughs loud at plain propriety,
it's ******* in the whole

gone the love for modest dress
all respect for chastity
all eyes are on the tv press
creating their own gravity

"we want new, we're educated,
chuck all ethics down the spout,
we'll see ourselves vindicated
as the truth will out"

the guy i saw yesterday
he looked like you or me
but today the rot and decay
are all that's left to see

janus looks not at future or past
he looks at present and is aghast
astonished he looks to right and left
shivering in fright at world bereft

where he looks he sees desolation
the human condition in shreds 'n tatters
the stink of putrid stagnation
as man has forgotten what really matters

future appears worse than the past
past is drenched in blood chloroplast
so forever he looks this 'n that way
unable to in present stay

they showed him how he'd pulverised
the naked defenceless bud
they showed him how he'd compromised
the soul in flesh and blood

but then they drew back the veil
on the rivers of delight
those thoughts and words he'd set sail
in the darkness of the night

touch a person with a word
move their soul with a smile
watch their spirit soar like a bird
as a bride walking down aisle

i've never mastered the art
found the gold for kintsugi
so the pieces of broken heart
remain; shattered for all to see,
but when i start
to pay attention
to broken heart
of G-d's ascension,
when i search,
piece by piece,
for His Light,
in place of cease,
when i walk,
stride by stride,
in trust assiduous
that He's by my side,
then i see no broken hearts.
For all is one. There are no parts.

In and out o' consciousness,
veil fluttering as weeping willows
dipping in the bottomless
darkness, of waters, endless shadows

sunlight flitting through their branches
playing gaily in thousand mirrors
scattered beyond crowded arches
o' supple boughs o'er flowing rivers

'Don't you love me?', the young son asked,
in faltering voice, eyes on the mask'd
face, wasted, wizened, not yet past
fifty years, of youth passed fast

as grey town pigeons fluttered by,
resting moments on the ledge,
until returning unto the sky,
perchance to nest and fledglings fledge

'Of-course I love you', came the answer,
out of body wrecked with cancer,
as the sun had broken free,
swept away the dark debris

briefly pierced the dinky room,
shooed away pallor of gloom,
soothing warmth of spirit's caress
eternal love in words express,

yet barely half an hour later
his soul ascended the elevator
unto the ***** of his Creator,
his gentle words a-bathe in ether