Perfect Timing

Hexadecimal_Clock_by_Nystrom

Midnight past, it’s dark at last,

We’ll call it perfect timing.

Right on cue, love’s calling you,

Hailed at perfect timing.

Rich red wine, music fine

Rhythm’d, perfect timing.

Bring yourself, bring little else,

Bring only perfect timing.

Bestow some heat, keep the beat

Tuned to perfect timing.

A harmony of you with me

Caught in perfect timing.

Claim the hour within our pow’r.

Let’s call it perfect timing.

(Image courtesy of Wikimedia:commons)

No Dress Rehearsal

Who would shun the chances that life offers,

Negate potential gain because of fears?

Who dismisses what each chalice proffers

But begs with thirst and cries for wasted years?

Why would any soul still fond of living

Draw blinds when sunbeams herald daybreak’s gift,

Huddle down in darkness, scared of shining,

Allow all fleeting moments then to drift?

A sullied sort of existential ruin

That wishes for and prays then barters grief,

Wails their woeful howls at waning moon, with

Persistent yet but absent self-belief.

‘No dress rehearsal’ – words fit to ponder.

Gratitude and action make for wonder.

Hold On

Goodbyes sharpen sorrow sought in knowing,

Questions why and how death transmutes all time,

Farewells find pained pleasure in past knowing

Shared memories, now shrouded, once sublime.

Goodbyes taint the wonder felt in chances

Life would last and sad endings were a lie,

Farewell’s  truth, untempered circumstances

Lost, the fleeting moments, censured to die.

Tho’ goodbyes break hearts with swollen starkness,

Unsheltered from the form of wailing near,

Tho’ farewells fling souls to doom and darkness,

Whispered voices can ease our unshed tears.

Goodbye to fears and could have tales we told,

Farewell to grief, each heart the light must hold.

Lottery

The door slammed,

Metaphorically,

But it was loud.

It closed all chances,

Betrayed feelings;

Love in a shroud.

 

Embalmed the heart,

Pinioned wings

And severed

Connections felt;

Passion

Undelivered.

 

A gust came then,

Wafted through

And left,

Refreshed the soul

Though heart was left

Bereft.

 

Storm clouds clear,

Skies lighten,

Blue breaks through,

Sunshine promised

And heart may still

Renew.

 

A lottery

Of love

And broken hearts,

So life goes,

New tickets

Hope imparts.

Chair Of Dreams

There’s a chair he sits

To meditate

And speculate on life.

It’s a comfy one;

Soft, well-sprung,

Eases all day’s strife.

 

He rests his head

On cushioned pad

And closes sleepy eyes,

Lets cares of day

Melt swift away,

Thoughts turn to inner sighs.

 

A restful time,

No work in mind,

Merely moments rest,

A winsome wait, to

Imaginative state, where

Dreams replace life’s best.

 

Time passing for some seconds

Seems a lifetime

In this way.

Clock ticks the moments

Idly by,

Dreams consummate; life delay.

 

Close mind to voices,

External noises,

Let angel flutter near

With wings of portent,

Soul be sent,

Eliminate all fear.

 

There’s a chair he sits,

It looks quite plain, but

Surrealism enhances,

In quietest throes

Of deep repose,

New hope from all dreamt chances.

 

There’s a chair he sits,

And with eyes closed, so

Angel unobserved,

Blesses hopes and dreams

For him

With gestures but no word.

Hail Fellow, Well Met

Nothing encapsulates all that I feel.

No words will make emotions more real.

Naught that I say may more thoroughly express

All that’s inside, for which I am blessed.

 

I could whistle out loud, a champion whistler – it’s true,

But no whistles or words could be heard by you,

Caught as you are in a whorl of earth’s darkest matter,

You hear but don’t listen; thoughts twist, turn and scatter

 

Into the night where no blue skies are seen,

Ideas and reality, a fruitless dream.

Futility embraced in a cloak of confusion

All hope a fantasy, merely illusion.

 

I’m wary of others who view all life’s chances

As a fool’s flight of fancy,

To be dismissed as a fairy tale, an epic collusion

Of mind and reality, just a protrusion

 

Of self in a place where castles feel real.

I’d rather live there than have visions crushed under heel

By those who diminish all hope with a smile,

A patronising nod and a hail, all the while

 

They laugh inside at my mirth and belief

That only we are, of life, our own tormentor and thief.

I know too many that shrug at all prospects

Doomed into gloom by their limited aspects.

 

I find it so hard to be at their side,

They vacuum my hope, my beliefs from inside.

So better than dying to internal death,

I leave them to be, although they’re bereft.

 

I can’t convince by effort alone,

I can’t infuse what they’ve never grown,

That hopes and desires are what make us live.

Each day a blessing, an option to give

 

One more venture, another gamble with stakes

That enhance possibilities, if risks we will take.

I’m gambling on life and all joys it proffers.

If you must, stay without. But don’t scoff at my nerve

 

That jumps like a jockey on a thoroughbred of great worth,

Leaping at fences and hazards that birth

New opportunities, aspirations to beget.

I’m sorry for you. Hail fellow, well met.

Closed/Open

The sign is up,

‘Closed’, it says.

Open soon as

Better days

End recession,

Deep depression.

That’s when

They’ll open up.

 

‘Gone to lunch’

For quite some time

Head in mire where

No things rhyme.

Nothing making

Any sense.

May never

Open up.

 

‘Be back soon’,

This Fagin’s song,

Stolen treasure

Does belong

Wherever you may

See a need

To help

One open up.

 

‘Coming soon’,

New stock here,

Open heart

So full of cheer

At all of chances

Life may give.

At last,

They open up.