Some Rhymes No Reasons

My Kids


CASSANDRA

THERE IS A GLOW TO CASSANDRA

AN ETHEREAL LIGHT

FROM DEEP WITHIN HER SOUL

I SEE HER IN HER CLASSROOM

AMONGST THE OTHER CHILDREN

SHE IS THE ONLY ONE IN COLOUR

THE OTHERS ARE DRAB, GRAYISH

THEY MERGE WITH THE WALLS

WHISPERING AND SHUFFLING AROUND THE ROOM

CASSANDRA NEVER SHUFFLES NOR WHISPERS

SHE RICOCHETS AROUND THE SPACE

A PINBALL HEADER FOR THE HIGHEST SCORE EVER

THE TIMBRE OF HER VOICE CARRIES

THE HEAVENLY SWEETNESS

OF TIBETAN PRAYER BELLS

SHE BRINGS HER TRUE SELF

TO INHABIT THIS MUNDANE PLANE

THE SCENT OF PARADISE DRIFTS IN HER WAKE

CASSANDRA IS MUSIC AND POETRY

PRETTY WORDS AND PRETTY SOUNDS

BEAUTY MADE MANIFEST

SHE IS THE GREATES GIFT THIS WORLD HAS GIVEN ME

AND THE GREATEST GIFT

I HAVE GIVEN THIS WEARY WORLD

THANK YOU UNIVERSE

FOR INTRODUCING ME

TO CASSANDRA






FIFTEEN

I am remembering being fifteen

I am remembering because

Fifteen years ago my first child was born

My black and white world became technicolour

I did not much appreciate the world then

It seemed a gray and dismal place

Populated by menacing phantoms

A weary world without a trace of grace

It hadn't always been that way

But I had somehow forgotten

Forgotten the early promise and the beauty

That the world held when I was fifteen

Forgotten the flash of pleasure

when the warmth of the sun

Caresses a naked brown back

As the dock rocks gently

The rush of blood to the face

When the prettiest girl at the beach

Smiles warmly at you while her

Vanilla girl scent fills the air

Forgotten the exhiliration

In hitting a baseball as hard as you can

Then laughing all the way around the bases

Chased by the cheers of the crowd

Forgotten because you cannot remain fifteen

You've got to grow an adult self

Stow those joys on a shelf

And join the workday world

But we live in a honeycomb world

The edges are not as firm as we think

The boundaries are more fluid

Than we like to admit they are

We fashion ourselves from gossamer

And expect it to perform like steel

It won't and you know it won't

So you wear your anger like a shield

You construct a career

Shoulder your way into executive suites

Acqurie a house complete with mortgage

Bury fifteen deeper and deeper

Twenty years of earth piled on

That sweet and joyous self

Got high as Everest

And hard as Georgian Bay granite

And yet, in a single instant

The mountain turned to dust and blew away

Rhiannon was born

And the world was new again

My identity, so carefully crafted

Disappeared with the first cry

I was every bit as new as she was

We became babies together

In that instant it all became fresh

The world, my life, my holy career

All bathed in a brand new light

Now that this baby was

The rage that props up the gossamer self

Is toxic to a brand new sould

If you want to be a proper dad

You've got to let it go

It is your ego you know

That shrouds itself in gossamer

So that ego has got to go

To raise a happy child

I wrestled mine to the ground

Entered her multicoloured world

I lost nothing of value and found

A serene and peaceful faith

I knew I had a place, a purpose

I occupied this universe for a reason

So does everyone else

Whether they know it yet or not

Soon we were toddling

Then we learned to speak

Began to explore our world

It was all new again to me

When she was five and needed

Someone to swordfight with at the mall

I was five too and slashed and jumped

And leapt over all the benches

When she was ten and loving superheroes

I went and bought the same comics I had before

And we pored over them together

While lying on the living room floor

Now she is fifteen and I get to be too

When she shares her day or lets me see

How exciting high school is to her

Or how much she loves Green Day

I am very very grateful to her

For giving me fresh eyes

For banishing the gossamer

For helping me become


Comments

No comments yet.

    Sign in or sign up and post using a HubPages Network account.

    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    No HTML is allowed in comments, but URLs will be hyperlinked. Comments are not for promoting your articles or other sites.


    metaphysics


    TAU TAU TAU

    I want to know hao

    To find the Tao

    Life's a long and winding road

    Signposts could ease the load

    of navigating life's potholes

    Long ago Lao Tzu sat and wrote

    The wisdom of the ages

    Still today we freely quote

    From those ancient pages

    When we seek some solace

    If we took old Lao Tzu

    Dropped him in modern China

    Within a month, maybe two

    He'd be King of Asia minor

    But he'd refuse to rule

    He still knows the way

    The universe works

    He'd be unlikely to be serene

    Amongst us jerks

    He'd go back to the mountains

    He would sit and listen to

    The cosmic heart abeating

    He would be more than do

    Cause the material is fleeting

    But the spirit is forever

    81 verses of poetic perfection

    A complete and cosmic code

    81 points of mystic connection

    To help to shoulder the load

    Of living on Planet Earth

    Tao shows the way it lights the road

    Tao aids the way it lightens the load

    Tao paves the way its the original code

    Tao is the way its the only ode

    Tao Tao Tao

    .








    SOME QUESTIONS

    Where is the comfort in a world

    Where God is dying

    or may be dead?

    The solace in a universe

    Circumscribed by

    the boundaries of

    one's own head?

    What happens to faith and hope

    when charity is rotted by self interest

    When God is a decaying image of man

    without the power to inspire

    anything more than a vague anxiety

    in the hearts of zombified children

    A god reflecting only man

    reflects arrogance

    A narrow view

    easily narrows further

    to include only me

    and exclude all you

    Where is the comfort in a climate

    where existencee is all?

    What values can be found

    when materialism triumphs

    and all we are becomes ashes

    to be strewn upon the ground?

    What happens to the spirit

    when reality is centred

    in the human brain?

    What of the mind?

    Can it truly be free

    when the body is so damn easy to chain?

    A god corrupted by man

    from omnipotence to impotence

    is helpless under the onslaught

    of the demons of despair,

    demons created, as was that god

    in the skull, mere thought.

    Where is the comfort in a sphere

    where the anguished cries of the wounded

    are broadcast twenty-four hours?

    What consolation exists in a blank-faced world

    where those supposed to lead need to

    barricade themselves in sterile ivory towers?

    What happens to beauty

    in a mass-produced world?

    How does one achieve self-esteem

    as a replaceable cog in a social machine

    whose well-oiled pistons pump without purpose

    because no one dares to dream.








    To My Love

    Who was Jesus? Why does he still plague us?

    Jesus was a carpenter but his apprentices

    Have laid waste to the forests of the mind

    A shaper of wood whose disciples

    Have made ash of the tree of knowledge

    A shatterer of convention

    Transformed into an institution

    As his words, those beautiful words

    Fell from purity to prostitution

    Who was Jesus? Why must he come back?

    To ransom his bride, the holy church?

    A bride turned whore by vile old men

    who don't know how to masturbate?

    Who find spirituality in pain

    Whose sould ulcerate

    Spilling poison over His wisdom

    Blistering the meaning from His anguish

    And corroding the walls of his kingdom

    Who was Jesus? What would he think now?

    Is genocide to his taste? Misogyny?

    They are now stars in the religious firmament

    The blood of life cannot touch the sacred altar

    But runs in rivers over religious battlegrounds

    Prejudice and exclusion have cachet

    When entrance to heaven can be bought from men

    Who was Jesus? And why do I only feel his presence

    When I am in you, my love.


    WAR

    The streets run red when nations collide

    Blood fills the gutter where children have died

    What is the left? Where is the right?

    Why the fuck must we fight

    Did peace fail? Was it ever tried?

    WAR

    Cruelty rises, violence reigns

    Serpents crawling through our brains

    Biting stinging twisting turning

    People dying cities burning

    WAR

    Ideologies clash

    Everybody burn and crash

    I am right you are wrong

    You had to know it all along

    War

    Marxism, Capitalism Fascism

    Hold the line fanaticism

    Suspended over unholy chasm

    Bodies twitch in final spasm

    WAR

    Ronald Reagan what a dunce

    Wants to kill us all at once

    Chernenko whinin and a fussin

    To the end he is a Russian

    WAR

    Ice cold fear crawls up my spine

    Push the button it will be fine

    We must kill those we hate

    Now now now or its too late

    WAR

    It drops

    Life stops

    Wasted landscape

    No escape

    WAR WAR WAR



    VOICES


    Voices Voices

    Mens voices womens voices

    same voice different voice

    voices mean choices

    silence is not golden

    Which voice? one voice

    I have many

    filling my skull

    like church bells

    fill a Sunday morning


    Their harmony

    or dissonance

    is what I am

    my central fact

    my creative act


    making a melody

    of their many tones

    is my most personal struggle

    it is my life

    the song of ME


    And I can't, I won't

    use your orchestra

    no matter how pure

    the tones

    of your instruments



    RITUALS


    The tribe gathers

    Gloriously garbed

    In the finest skins

    Faces brightly painted

    To hide imperfections

    In anticipation of

    Random warrior mating


    Eyes shadowed carefully

    with aquamarine clay]

    Lips stained strawberry

    The masks allow

    Release of body

    To the rythyms of the night


    A quivering surrender

    Of anonymous flesh

    As lust is unleashed

    In the sweaty darkness

    Hips thrust wildly

    Pelvises pivot

    Chests are flexed and pounded

    Guttural screams emerge

    From throats turned raw

    By magic potions

    Potions brewed to release

    Tribal passions


    The beat changes

    Bodies writhe snakelike

    Through the clearing

    Bowing before bronze idols

    With glowing golden haloes

    Shrieking and leaping

    As the rythyms fill their loins

    With unquenchable fire

    Then, the band takes a break

    And the tribe goes to the bar

    To grab another beer.







    Some Older


    HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO MARRAKESH?

    Watching a little old man in Kensington

    Brown wrinkled face seamed with life

    Skeletal frame draped in shapeless polyester

    Nose twitching at air thickened

    With the odours of fresh fish and fresher vegetables

    I wonder, as I wander in his wake

    What kind of pleasures does this man take?

    Does he dandle grandkids on his knee

    Temper his aged resignation with their naivete?

    Does he linger over Turkish coffee

    Slurping java and snorting non-commitally

    As his cronies dissect the days events

    Is he a withered Romeo of long ago

    Who consumated grand passions in desert tents?

    A little man, shabby, he wanders among the stalls

    All shades of humanity in easy reach

    Their uniqueness felt in the lilt of a voice, the colour of a sari

    A pungent aroma that drifts past before

    Disappearing down a drafty high rise canyon

    Little man little man who are you

    Where is your home? What do you do?

    A threadbare hat with a rakish tilt

    Were you a Bogie fan?

    And did I hear a melodious tone

    In that soft "Please a half pound of Columbian"

    What has your life been my little man?

    Have you ever been to Marrakesh? Danced in Gay Paree?

    I envy you your life little man. Won't you share with me?

    We can find a dusty little coffee house

    With Portuguese waitresses and formica tables

    You can tell me tall tales of little things

    The old country, the farm, the house with the gables

    The sights and the sounds of the life you led

    Little man Little man what can you share

    Of the past and what you did there?

    Have you ever been to Marrakesh?

    What was it like when you were there?

    Do you rue your aged flesh?

    Long for when you were young and fair?

    Or are you happy old and grey

    With most of life now passed away

    Are you just waitiong for judgement day?

    I wonder as I watch you walk

    What could your life teach me

    If we could sit and talk

    Could I learn to be more free

    To sit and share a stranger's flask?

    These questions dance behind my urban mask

    How sad I haven't the courage to ask

    Click to Rate This Article
    working