I Knew Him Well

I knew him well, you see

the heart of him

the soul of him

the man

his gentleness

his kindness

his actions

bywords of the whole

no one except perhaps

the cruel or one broken

could have accused so

falsely, sent him into

purgatory, there to

await condemnation

or vindication while

we prayed, kept the faith

in truth, in justice and

in him, his voice broken

in forgiveness even while

understanding incomplete

as ours, knowing only that

these things are sent

to try us

he was

is not

never was

found wanting

I knew him well, you see

his heart

his soul

the man

The Human Way

Do you know the good when you see good

And feel it, it scent it, sense it,

Recognised by actions, words

Someone well-intentioned.

Do you forgive when somehow form

Is broken, errors made

Or jump for joy at fortune’s chance

To jeer at mistakes done or said.

Do you know good and still know good

When erring treads their path

Recognise that we all fail, forgive

Or do you laugh,

Remark or feel that, justified,

You have cause for glee,

Dismiss that person callously,

It could be you or me.

Do you know good and know that good

Sometimes makes mistakes

But, in withal, throughout it all

Good still stands up straight

And nothing changes what we’ve done,

Or said or thought when wrong

But knowing that it’s understood

Helps us keep on going.

Do you do good, strive for good

Most times and most days,

Then, rest assured, when good is flawed

That’s the human way.

Do you know growth and know that goodness

While for good will yearn

Without mistakes and learning curves

We would never learn.

The Meaningful Key

Minus mic,

his voice still carried,

barely and with just enough humour

to detect genuine humility

and passion.

He spoke

of early sadness,

not being good enough

and

finding meaning.

He spoke

of childhood,

of family split

and dodging school

to fail.

He spoke

of finding

worth in himself

through purpose

and work

and sharing

a shed

with rats,

cockroaches,

scary spiders

and other youths

in a far-off land

where native children

were taught in awe and desperation,

drinking thirstily,

desperate for education.

He spoke

of forgiving himself

and his mum,

of whispered prayer

to find strength.

He spoke

of changes

in direction

to aspire

to doctor dream,

of local service

then returning

to Africa,

giving back

what he had found.

He spoke

of waiting soon

his first child –

to spontaneous applause

at his awed thrill.

His face lit

the stage.

A lad, I thought,

of tender years

for nothing

marred

his glowing face.

But experience

lent truth

to his age

and joy in life.

From sad and broken beginnings,

he spoke,

while I choked back tears

at radiant happiness

and a voice

that spoke

to youths

and adults alike.

He spoke

of finding

the meaningful key.

Polar Attraction

Two cry together

In separate rooms

But pride holds sway

Till the end,

Neither believing,

Forgiving, forgetting,

Where once, before love,

They were friends.

 

Tears on the flooring

Make puddles and pools

Each drop depicting

A scene

Of words from the past

And visions that last.

What happened to love

In between?

 

Why, when and how

Are the questions they ask

And answers, the two bent on seeking.

But comfort in arms

Rings bells of alarm

When neither of the two

Are yet speaking.

 

Such misunderstanding

When love is confused

And tears blind

What may be seen.

Too often two lovers

Hide under covers

When all it takes is

To say what they mean.

 

The games people play,

Without true intention,

Fear of hurt,

Resisting the action.

Dry all the eyes,

Open doors wide,

Meet half way,

To polar attraction.

The Rose

thorny rose

Seek the flower not the thorn;

Therein lies sweetest nectar.

Sharpest points protect the self.

Who else will be protector?

Dismiss the gore that razor pierces,

Blood merely proves thy worth.

Look deeply to the core of flower,

Where manna, taste thereof.

2014-01-10 20.29.27

Many Ways

Speak love;                          hold fast my fascination,

Into my mind;                    ease such sweet frustration,

Tell me;                                 in words of dedication,

Show me;                            end my sublimation.

Please me;                           in ways of deviation,

Take me;                              release each rapt sensation,

Mould me;                           with tender observation.

Sing to me;                          another soul rendition,

Own me;                              I hear your plea’s petition.

Wonder not;                       no obvious solution,

Forgive me;                         I need your absolution.

Forget me.                          A hopeless persecution.

Hopefully, it should make sense reading right across or down either column. Maybe even bottom to top? Just noticed.

Who Are You?

Oh, such is understanding word,

That all you read seems quite absurd.

I get the point for I have pointed,

But, say, my elbow was disjointed?

And what I pointed to was broken

Must I then speak in words true spoken?

Or does a heart ken all it sees

And bows on genuflected knees?

No, truth is quite transparent when

The washer wipes and so reckons

That all they see inside the room is not

All fear and doom and gloom.

But, measured with some point of faith,

Relays the truth and sees the wraith

That succours to a heaven sent

And knows that life is all but spent.

And then,

A future seems so much to clear,

Enamoured, fill their hearts with cheer.

But, truth be told,

There is no heart in those I here now do depart

From, endless war that is so waged.

Engaged I find and, too enraged.

This bastard life that spat

Confusion

Knows not family delusion.

A happy child, a carefree name.

Identity inside the frame

Of subterfuge and grand design

This heart is broken. ‘Tis not mine.