Penchant For Audacity

A penchant for audacity marked his card,

His death warrant too if truth be told,

Never could resist a cause, his calling

To be brave, to be fearless, to be bold.

A penchant for audacity was his downfall,

Tho’ they say he never died, his legend thrives,

Witnessed to by others who still know it,

Audacious guarantees eventful lives.

A penchant for audacity has spoken

From pulpits, prisons, pioneered new thought,

Sometimes been arrested or imprisoned,

Occasions where audacity’s been shot.

How rarely circumscribed are those believers

Who challenge change and ask what most will not,

How rarely is audacious preferred penchant,

Too rarely, sadly, not a hell of a whole lot.

 

Then there are the bastard children of audacious,

The megamouths who are not quite the same,

Gargantuan in ego, in no way courageous,

Giving penchant for audacity a bad name.

Credo

Do you believe in laughter held in truth,

In knowing that words spoken find their mark,

That a look, a touch, the gentlest hand may form

A smile that grows within, ignites a spark?

 

Do you believe that gladness grows inside,

Overflows to others open to

Receiving joy as recompense for living

When its trials and labours overwhelm and threaten you?

 

Do you believe that hurting ends in time,

That inner worlds are balanced by all love,

That questions yet unanswered cause a thrill,

Their discoveries a golden treasure trove?

 

Do you believe that somewhere inside light

The heart of matter hides a great reveal,

That nothing happens without cause effect

And perceptions make our own world feel what’s real?

 

Do you believe that logos is the word

Or that words alone confuse a greater thought,

That lips that speak the lies betray the way

And sometimes guidance dwells in what’s not sought?

 

Do you believe in fairies and in trolls,

In monster lochs where hidden depths conceal,

Do you believe in equine wings and angels,

In many wondrous stories though unreal?

 

Do you believe in suspending disbelief

To enter into fantasies that pleasure

While still inside you know factual from dream

But recognise you owe some childlike measure?

 

Do you believe that living is worth living,

That each breath you take admits a purpose here,

That nothing’s yet decided or completed

And that only you can change your greatest fears?

 

Do you believe in worlds you find in books,

In scenes unfolding on the movie screen,

In comic superheroes who astound,

Unveiling attributes too rarely seen?

 

Do you believe the essence of all stories

Conveys some truth distilled to purest form,

That much of what we honour most in tales

Are aspirations we would wish as norm?

 

Do you believe that children hold the key,

That complications thwart our best intentions,

That simplicity and innocence are essential to all meaning

To underwrite and clarify the best of lessons?

 

I do.

 

Whose Muse?

She wanders in

when she feels like it,

tarted up, sometimes,

as if every eye in the place awaited her arrival,

flaunts herself

in naked abandon,

flourishing syllabic resonance wherever

wanton desire cherishes her arrival,

poses idly, at times, to capture flash,

smiling, leerily, on red carpet.

Departing with a sneer, she’s

off to sun herself in Grecian myth,

knowing she is

forever wanted

and desired.

A tart to all temptress,

scourging soul desire,

panting wildly when afflicted,

reddened pout

to tease all suitors.

So they say.

So say many.

Some fast while awaiting, and

she’s laughing with margharitas in the sunshine,

leaving clouds fermenting overhead,

idly casting aspersions on your value,

burnishing her limbs with languid poise,

her footstool, your soul,

querulous and querying,

while no great loss to her.

So I say.

A lecher.

No more than any other

of her kind.

Nothing to offer

but illusion.

Still she squirms inside your worth,

dedicates sacrifice to poisoned thoughts.

A tramp, I affirm,

designed and dressed in alter ego,

famishing your soul

until you realise the truth.

Just a bitch,

in the heat of sunny and overcast days,

becalming doubts as her mood takes,

laughing as clouds of despair

part words from mind.

Trust tarnishes her tan,

embittered exchanged coin of nothing.

Shylock,

feasting on flesh that waits

for her arrival

while life demarks

her worth.

Balls Of Steel

I feel the need to justify this piece.

I don’t hate men. Far from it. There are quite a few I’d like to show my appreciation of. In my dreams!

But. I have a sister – two actually- and one of them has just had a kick in the balls by someone who calls himself a man. I KNOW not all men are like this.

 

OUR balls are made of steel.

WE keep them hidden inside,

Unaffected by temperature and treason.

Governed by reason.

And humungous quantities of love.

OUR balls allow hands-free penalties

And rarely swing with abandonment

Even while YOU think irrationally of

OUR reasoning

That broods on permutations

And shelters our most vulnerable parts

With drops of tears.

 

OUR tender parts need hiding from

The world of hurt we feel.

They need to rise and feed

The children, pack their lunch

And send them off with cheer and change

In pockets

That are not meddled with by hands

Fumbling for satisfaction in the moment.

 

OUR balls are mostly resistant to immediate gratification,

Tell YOU to ‘get them right roon ye’

When threat of compromise

Compromises

Those we love beyond OUR own balls.

We are WOMAN! WE have balls!

They hurt.

And then they heal.

Orpheus And Our Underworld

Now I could just post this poem and say nowt. I could. But I won’t. I’m on the letter ‘O’ in my self-imposed challenge to work through myths and legends by the alphabet. And I thought ‘O’ would be a doddle. Orpheus tries to rescue lover from the underworld. Fails. A breeze.

But I didn’t count on t’internet. And me. And other bloggers. And being on holiday.

Therefore, more time on my hands than usual, time to read blogs, politics raises its demonic head, read, comment, read, let’s write the poem, research, read, link, read, wtf!, read some more, link. You know what I mean. A blogger’s journey. Sort of typical.

So, this is now a mishmash of mythology, politics, spirituality and a bit of quantum theory thrown in for good measure. Oh aye, and music too. Well, he was a terrific musician according to lore. And music’s the bees’ knees when it comes to muse. And lulling us all into a false sense of security. Or possibly an awakening. See what I mean? Very convoluted in connotations. And I’ve only had coffee all day so it is what it is.

 

Blessed and cursed in timely measure,

Divided from the one,

Into Hades, sought his treasure,

Promises undone.

Forsworn to love, deprived of her,

Abandoned at the gate,

Bereft belief, faith destroyed,

New mysteries promulgate.

One who outsung sirens,

Enabled Jason’s might,

In muse and music invoked man

To lesser, greater rites.

Are we still lulled by Orphean lyre

While devils dance our fate?

   Compelled by those whom power sires

While they, ourselves, berate.

 

If you get the chance, you might want to check out some of the reasons behind this version of the poem. As I said, a blogger’s wonderland out there.

http://syndaxvuzz.wordpress.com/2014/04/16/we-are-in-great-danger-ex-banker-details-how-mega-banks-destroyed-america/

http://syndaxvuzz.wordpress.com/about/

http://colemining.wordpress.com/2014/04/15/the-devils-music/

And a comment from Mark, on one of my posts, that was timely.

I’m just…thinking…(now that could be dangerous 🙂 ). There has been a little uproar over the last few weeks with a pile (and I say that with tongue in cheek) of politicians getting roasted by our ICAC (Independant Commision Against Corruption). So far, ICAC 6 (and possibly more) – Politicians 0. And just to show how deep it goes, our very own Barry O’farrell, Premier of NSW resigned this morning because he had his fingers in the till…with more to come.
I’m like a kid at a puppet show, the stupidity’s plus the ego’s are unbelievable. Every second word out of their mouth is ‘I can’t remember’. If it wasn’t so incredible I’d laugh. As it is, I’m so disgusted I can’t even cry.
I think I might go steal something and just tell the police ‘I can’t remember’. And the atrocity of it all. they’ll just walk away with the odd resignation. If it was you or I, we’d be in jail for a very long time.
Sorry, starting to blow my bugle 🙂
Was just thinking of stirring the pot with a website, to get an honest opinion from the public and just see how many people are sick and tired of this deceit, lies and thumbing their noses at us ‘the people’ that are forced to vote for this stupidity every 4 years. It’s like…here, use your Democratic right to be sh*t on or pee’d on from a great height. Oh, I’m so excited, which way should I go!
Right, that’s enough, time to go and sleep on it…maybe something will come up from spirit in my sleep 🙂

 

 

 

 

Nemesis

Are you my Nemesis?

Raining righteous

Vengeance from above,

Quelling hubris;

Dark companion star of man?

 

Are you my Nemesis?

Tempting me till

Right has lost its path,

Echoing Narcissus;

Smug vanity?

 

Are you my Nemesis?

Purposeful but lost

Into the world,

Pleasured life;

Epicurean here and now?

 

Are you my Nemesis?

Pop-cultured

Neutrality;

Champions lost

for weak and weary.

 

Are you my Nemesis?

Inescapable

Fortune beheld in victory,

Armed to flay and weigh;

Impartial justice.

 

Are you my Nemesis?

Goaded goddess,

Implacable;

Unmitigated

Truth?

 

Are you my Nemesis?

Elusive, fatalistic, flawed of countenance?

So I’m asking.

Are you my Nemesis?

Or am I my own?

Myths and Gifts

Mercury, Minerva,

Melampus, Megaera,

Medusa, Morpheus and Mars.

Marsyas, Minos,

Melicertes, Menelaus,

Metempsychosis: rebirth from the stars.

 

Midway to view

Odes to untrue,

Mendacious legend and myth.

Or lights from all lore,

Truths from before,

Muses or magpies the gift.

Dream Lives

Trying their best to ignore what they feel,

To live in the present, where everything’s real,

Dreams are ephemeral dice.

Knowing that others’ needs must be met,

They sublimate thoughts, attempt to forget

Chances to live their lives twice.

 

A strange twist of fate to glimpse for a moment

Alternate path that seeks to torment

And prods at the softest of hearts.

She’s just a girl with longing and tears,

He’s simply a boy, heart ridden with fears

And the two must stay far apart.

 

Recollect selves but dream the sweet dream,

Imagine the moment where nothing seems

Impossible to realise.

Shift back to now,

Remembering how

Reality is somehow more wise.

 

Never forget, though, that dreams may come true.

It’s strange and confusing but often they do

In the weirdest of wonderful ways.

They sanctify souls that search for all bliss

To know heart’s desire, love’s sweetest kiss,

Till nights’ searching fulfills all the days.