Curse or Cure

As one who buys into the curse of honest self-reflection,

I ponder ruse that briefs process, selective recollection,

Doughty effort, spirit voice, appraisals for collection,

Doubts regale, does truth prevail in analysed introspection.

And say what should the truth reveal in all the moments pensive,

Would aught be learned or changed withal or rejected, I dismissive

At risen thought and actions wrought, words that I have spoken,

Accepted, viewed, for change previewed, or merely selfish token.

A gesture only, naught confessed to mind and all that matters,

Hidden guilt, a comfort quilt, then tossed in pieces, scattered.

No perfection, no, not here, nor nearly, though aspired,

Appraisals made, some darker shades of earthbound, deep desires.

Very much a worldly way in living here below,

These thoughts that haunt, as spectres gaunt, a valve restrictive flow

To missives from my spirit born, my better half, by far,

Reflections thrust, my heart unjust, life and time to scar.

But still, I ponder, recollect, review and hope rebounds

That thinking ranges, plans the changes, till spirit voice resounds.


No Curse

What can you say now

To that kind of silence?

            Not the blissful quiet

            That descends

            At evening’s end,

            Nor the silence that

            Pierces through

            Soulful songs

            And seeks

            To burst forth.

Not the loud,

Pervasive silence

That descends

After tumultuous noise,

Nor the restful quiet

That only a ticking clock

Keeps rhythm

And rhyme to.


All these I embrace,

            Rejoice in even,

                        In silence’s ecstasy


What can we say now

To the other silence?

            Where words


            Scream blame

            Or ill-regard,


            In pointless,


            White noise


The kind that grieves

And causes grief.

How this silence punishes,

Betrays its name

And purpose

What say we to silence then?


Hush, love,

And hold,

Redeem the silence,

Befriend its nature.

It knows no curse

In peace.



Fevered brow needs cooling calm.

Cold compress cures the curse,

Gentleness and soothing unction, on

Malaise, helps to nurse.


Tranquil tunes in tender tempo,


Repose in peaceful pleasured points,

Slumber you may know.


A restful sleep of purest bliss,

All sound a healing balm,

Soft hands to ease, know surcease,

Negating all mind’s harm.


Mild ecstasy in blessedness,

Relief from all life’s woe,

Simply salved by solicitude,

Everyone must know


A humbler sort of paradise,

A sweeter song of praise,

That life renews and lives again

Each dawn of all new days.

Lies and Damnable Lies

Hands tight, legs bound,

Mouth gagged for submission,

Bondaged, by no self-request.

Nations tied to economy’s curse,

Answerable, to another’s behest.


One proud, one small,

One weak, one tall,

Taller, tallest, best.

Perceiving self-aggrandizement,

As Nature’s kind bequest.


Looking down from tower height

At others far below;

Insect-like, they scurry hither,

As if they do not know.


But others do. They see the lies,

That power, too, is curse,

That attitude to weaker states,

Leaves others so much worse

In choices that they have for life;

Children, husband, family, wife,

Exempted from inclusive share

Of earth’s bountiful supply.

And some will question, why?        


They have this right to gaze ahead

And see a world where land is bled,

Resources taken for others’ good,

Not shared,

As if in brotherhood.



The ties that bind do not oppress

The mind or spirit, in duress;

A glow of hope remains in breast

And some will strive to do what’s best,

To look behind the mirrored wall

And see the puppeteers that call

The tune, to such as we –

Eyes raised, to heaven, pleading for

All peoples’ liberty.