The drops of rain piano on the bars of my window
Where I can see the hide and seek game sun and rain
Play; the clouds laugh in silver rays like joyous waterfalls:
Birds love waterfalls. They polka the sky and tweet
Their cares away to the gentle wind under their wings.
Nature just opened its eyes to smile on the eternity
Of me, the sun, the rain, the clouds, the wind, the birds,
And the rest of restless creation soaking in the beautiful
Predicament of being alive for just this brief while
And yet relishing the divinity and love in every moment of it.
Tag Archives: life
The End #live
The End is at the start of every movie like winter and snow.
Like Autumn the most, the rest will surely surly follow
While you frown. There are things an eraser must allow
And things tattooed next to your eye, just below the brow:
The End is at the start of every movie like winter and snow.
It’s easy to ignore the metal chipping away as the engine churns,
Or the magnets slowly turning away as the Earth turns.
Even Kobe knew his jersey was meant to be hung off the floor
The fire from the line tamed, and yet it’s easy to forget, for
It’s easy to ignore the metal chipping away as the engine churns.
But let not the day be your friends opening the door with hats,
For there’s no cake, no replay, no rewind, just you and the facts.
Facts haunt you in that instant: your beds in disarray, unmade
Are where you must lay, and they bring you acrid lemonade,
But let not the day be your friends opening the door with hats.
So be ready, for every movie like Winter and Snow
Has its moment, and you’re the artist putting on your own show
And when the Producer pulls the curtain, we want rounds of applause
Let the next act with no drawn-out we-‘re not ready pause ’cause
The End is at the start of every movie, like winter and snow.
You don’t know when it starts nor ends
But you must live it in twists and bends.
No manual robotises your daily experience
And no theory can predict weakness or resilience.
The people you meet cannot immediately tell whence
Your smiles or tears come, nor can you theirs.
It’s just life,complex yet simple, loving yet painful,
Misunderstood yet so simple, from dirt to dining tables
And you must live it, good or bad, fun or scare,
And smile all the way, catching the wind in your hair.
A Moment of Bonnie Tyler #Eclipse
For Jodie Moment, strong pillar of the Fab family, friend, sister.
Jodie, for us it’s a Total Eclipse. Let’s cherish our friends and family while they live, for you never know when you turn around, and poof they’re gone.
May we find comfort in God, like you have found peace now with Him. RIP sis.
Every now and then I said a prayer that
Every time you try, it would work out, that
Every hope you harbour will come to be, that
Every time you cry, you may find comfort, that
Every time I see you, I’d see that light, that life
But now every time I’ll see your laughter jumping from still pixels on a screen, I’ll miss that light and that life,
I’ll think of you pulling that microphone to safety from the strength of that voice, a mere extension of your strong person,
I’ll think of you teasing Balla, wearing laughter and joy like roses adorn the flamboyant gardens of March singing Alleluia
I’ll be sad. Maybe I’ll cry. I’ll ask why. I’ll listen to “Somewhere”, I’ll listen to the “Prayer”. I’ll listen to our own Bonnie Tyler, now fallen.
Fallen while going up the Everest of life
Fallen too early, and it feels so wrong.
Moved on to our Maker.
Moved to receive you reward.
Every now and then, I know we’ll look to the sky, and
Every now and then you’ll smile back as we recount
That once there was an angel that sang and laughed sorrow away.
And you’ll sing “Turn around, ride on”
There’s an orchestra in the trees
A funny band they are, uniform with instruments.
The same notes rustle enchanted leaves,
Putting on a show for the feathery clouds pasted
Across the tapestry of God’s palace,
(For a carpenter, it’s strange He fancies blue)
Spreading before my eyes covered in awe
Taking it all in: the air pressure mounting Bucephalus to move
Feathers on the band, the sunlight stealing trinkets of colour for
My hungry eyes, the Earth of golden brown,
Holding years of history in stories it whispers to my consciousness
As I grab a fistful of my raw material.
Maybe I should seek a seat by those rowdy fellows
And watch their breasts vibe at the resonance
Of nature’s beauty.
Oh that band of one instrument.
One as an instrument taking me home.
For me? #life #breath #thanksLord
Lily fragrance dances about my nose like lasses in a mall,
I soak it all in: bees and butterflies want nectar like I muesli.
Flying about like happy tweets, the birds colour the sky with cheer and fluff
Enjoying the blue sky, like I the breeze; did You make all this just for me?
The Last Man Standing #supportWidows #supportWidowers #fakeProphets
The wind gusts kissed the rain drops when we met in that MRS station :
Two souls seeking shelter but finding fetter for love in total elation.
Loving each instant of evening trips, the knighting pose to propose,
The stressful preparation together, and the white fairy wings we chose
To carry me to the next level of our bond, you in black, me in white
Sealing this bond, this bond, this bond, with one golden knot so tight
You said you’d be the third set of footsteps in the sand of my homeward journey,
Lifting me to the Lord’s arms, chaining your sad days to my listening gurney
Walking me to the Lord’s arms on that day we all must give back our depth
And lie together lifeless dust on lifeless dust playing the game of death.
Together in life we raced the shopping bustle, beat the crowded morning hustle
So should release every muscle at the same time to make simultaneous fossils
The wind gusts are kissing rain drops in another bland dying MRS station
And one soul seeks shelter or fetter but finds neither in total desperation
Hating each instant evening weeps, pics jocose now a dead wilted rose
The stressful separation, bad weather and the dark dreary things that I chose
To put in the box to carry you to the next level of God’s bond of light,
Killing this bond, this bond, this bond with one last breath … then night.
You said, you swore in breaths of love and swore and said some more
That you’ll be there, that this heart will never be bare, that sad yore’s lore
Of Capulet’s daughter’s end was never coming near this bond this bond this bond
And wound up leaving me standing alone, rended, shattered, worthless mound,
Lost, battered with tears digging ditches on these cheeks missing your every kiss,
Pale, scarred, marred, a fossil of some other time that knew something of bliss.
The wind gusts are fighting the rain drops in another dead MRS station
And I’m standing tethered to the past, seeking instant solution or re-creation.
This man’s one of God’s keeps, and sure has a solution to brighten my prose
For I’ve seen his promise take form in the sight of a blind man at his shows.
Oh! To find the third steps and make this burden of loss once again light
I’ll trust these words which God’s given this human creature of might.
-Then later… –
The wind gusts are gone, no rain drops in the dusty lonely MRS station
And I’m lying down praying my last, abandoned and in want of some medication.
That man standing’s not God’s tweet! Yes I paid in cash for all my throes,
But never got sight, never walked, just paid more and more to feed my woes
Oh come long lost love, lead the way to the tunnel bright with God’s light
To rebuild this bond this bond this bond in one golden knot more tight.
Pain #pain #humility #compassion
A stab straight to the heart,
A flicker of hope gone away,
Forever present, a cancer on your skin,
In the bones or other frail tissues,
Coming to you when you least expect;
In every respect your closest companion.
In everyday it plays a part,
Like a tax you owe, you must pay!
Burden on your shoulder, a fragile kin,
Engendered from salient issues.
A kin you know you can’t neglect,
‘Cos though unpleasant, must be in the union.
Yes, though it is in your skin a wart,
A messenger teaching you to apprecia’e
The un-corrupted areas of skin,
To keep those bubbling insults in disuse.
Instead look at what good’s left, and delect
In the life-learning process; an important pinion.
You run away, you waste your millions,
No escape, you are the next to infect.
Water fills your failing sinews,
He’s stuck with you, no fleeing!
Your closest companion on everyday,
When you least expect he is taking part.
The answer to Life #whyAmIHere #theBigQuestion
The beauty of being alive, to me it was belied,
Is to indulge in each minute knowing someday I’ll die!
This macabre thought walking with me through strife
And through joys made both seem shamefully alike.
The long face came a long way to mar
Each minute – that long face I pulled.
I’d curse and hurt, wishing for a better star
And miss each occasion to smile in a better style.
And if 50 was right about happiness and pain?
Then I think grandma’s passing is fully explained;
The tears poured on the grave to water the grain
Of happy memories saying “Would you were here again!”
And if Nas was right about life how you make it?
Then that thought’s had me wearing mine down to naked;
Chasing the wind surely never wrote Ecclesiasticus,
It was purpose pushed Sirach to inscribe “All’s vanity”.
Yes! Purpose, the diamond in the rough,
The needle in the hay, like finding on earth divine love:
All I learnt to seek like wading in a mangrove
Looking for gold. I have my sieve ready to go!
So why should I think death as time rolls,
And live death, even before my Holy Lord?
As I kneel down, conscious of my Purpose or God,
I’m thinking: “Why bother, when Your Will will be done?”
Existence #alive #lifeIsGood
A heave of my breast and the crawling in of air,
That stealthy walk of air on each piece of skin
As the wind blows, and I see beauty with this pair,
Tell me I exist, but does the manikin?
Rugged surfaces my fingers would play across,
And rustle the leaves lying lazy on the grass;
Maybe that’s the difference! And that I can feel loss
when a peer surpasses Time’s hourglass.
Surely the manikin knows nor pain nor joy,
And love is but letters on silken embroidery.
And that manikin can’t choose to hate corduroy,
And less choose to indulge in day time reverie,
And the fragrance of the flowers or Boss perfumes
Stealing a smile from my face at this instant.
Surely the manikin can’t enjoy the jolly tunes
Of the choir or the visual excitement of a playing infant?