Political correctness is an insult to minorities...

For those with ears:

There seem to be a lot of 'old men of the mountain' these days..

For those with fears:

Chivalry isn't dead..

*as (almost) always: Cum Grano Salis

City Life

Business men count little coins
Drink too much and laugh too loud
Wallets ache like summer loins
Of silly things try to be proud

Politicians say not what they say
Evade all stern endeavour
With cliche brushes colour grey
Cannot commit; not ever

Dustmen come into my street
Gather all our waste
Smile and joke with whom they meet
Working, living without haste.

Final Chapter

I saw the world as from afar
revolving azure star
lights were smiles from yesterday
comets would come out to play
and dip in to the ocean blue.

I heard a song from outer space
sung by some celestial face
a lament of the ages
a turning of the pages;
the closing of a book..

Oh, Do Behave!

Scream the dream entangling you;
nothing's cast in stone.
Live the life that you pursue,
do not repeat-postpone.

Arise to find your soul awake;
keen, and eager still.
Live and breathe; for INRI's sake,
uncover your true will.

Salute the dawn that welcomes you;
suprise is your reward.
Be still and let your dreams come true,
they're not meant to be stored.

Centre Stage

As luck would have it, I
talked to the trees, looked up at the sky,
and, so far removed from my own little self,
I gained a new view point from up on that shelf;
how many lives intertwined without knowing,
so many creatures; moving and growing.

Dreaming of dreaming I dreamt me a dream,
in which they connected; the source and the stream,
the boulders that lay there, around which would flow
tides of tomorrow, the seeds we would sow,
whilst far overhead, a gathering storm
took on shapely warning, an ominous form.

Sleeping with eyes of surprise open wide,
I fashioned a bridge to bridge the divide
of what still lay hidden, so deep within me,
I longed to break open; to finally see
the stage of the world, the roles I could play,
movements and motions; the lines I must say.

As I rubbed the sleep from my sleep-weary eyes,
I perceived curtains moving and lost my disguise.

Women are superior. That's why men are superior.

Self

'Tis an art to part with what one knows;
To smell the world without a nose.
To go beyond what once was near,
To be alive and know no fear.

'Tis quite something to be proud;
To know you make the moving cloud.
To feel the rain and greet it,
To see one's fate and meet it.

'Tis a feat to see around;
To stand upon one's own-built mound.
To see for miles in all directions,
To write and cope with snide rejections.

'Tis grand to be alive;
To feel one has survived ~
One's own former self.

IT is not an exact science..

Departure

Sailor stands proudly
no shaking legs on deck today, as
Royal Navy vessels leave
old ports lined with waving family members.
Sailors and soldiers will do as told, bold
only in their execution of accepted duty.
Politicians and main-stage players
throw the dice around a trembling table,
hardly able to keep up the pretence
they usually know what they're doing
at all. Enthrall the puzzled crowds
with balming words of place of pride,
history and averted threats
to 'anything for a quiet life'.
Journalists rub their grubby hands
as foreign lands await their fate..

Hibernation

Icicle particles taking part
the flow is stemmed, the tide
Spring is lingering, eager to start
for now the flowers rest to hide.

Dreams of light re-captured still
lie beneath our beating heart
All the seasons must fulfil
unite what time has torn apart.

Forgive the lark its absent song
sounds will still persist
The force of nature will prove too strong
for statis to overcome, resist.

Evenings spent with curtains drawn
fires roaring high
One day soon, we'll mow the lawn
and spirits will soar high.

War Preparations

Senseless mayhem in the making
Earth prepares to roll and shake;
Innocense left, close to breaking
The Big Baboon is on the take.

A voice rings out in earnest
No leader seems to hear;
Which cry will reach the furthest
Constructive hope or fear?

Nasty

Nasty grey mountain ranges
rivers flood where daylight changes,
Skies blood red cling overhead
some must atone and re-emerge,
when all is done or left and said..

Trees stand by, sarcastically,
moving to and fro
Somehow they, delightfully
keep what I must grasp to know..

Green lush fields now soothe my feet
bare with winter cold,
Little daffodils will greet
the visionary; true and bold..

Grow fierce in thy direction
denounce this strange dissection
of what has always been.