Tuesday, December 18, 2012

11 - 2012

The Grey Politician


The grey man dressed as he spoke 
in dreary monotonous phrases
expounded under cold monotone sky


My concentration drifted angrily 
a question in my mind
‘How dull does he think we are?’


I must take action, my ears have closed
the fists have tightened 
The adrenaline has risen.


I shall paint his tired ego brightly
with rainbow coloured words
drawn from nature’s dictionary


Rudely, perhaps crudely even
display my chagrin, explain
modulate and express in fiery tone


If a politician you feel to be
discard your paper speeches
and speak freely from the heart


Then I in my madness
Might
Vote for you!

Sunday, October 21, 2012

10 - 2012

MAGICAL MUSIC



Magical music fosters
Heart minds to rise
In a yeast of bliss
On hearing long notes
Played slowly - crystal clear
Smooth haunting melodies

Awakens Celtic elements
Moves Sky and Sea to Land
Silken clouds float in west wind
Bring Atlantic waves to flow
Caress the shore with a Kiss
 Lingering close as lovers do.


©MRL 21st October 2012

Friday, September 14, 2012

No. 09-2012 A Billion Light Years Away

A Billion Light Years Away


My true creation memory.
I was born from a fat cream cloud
that swooped in a gentle curve earthwards
Accompanied by a long note
torn from a scream - Mine
Me, a solitary thing knowing no kin
deposited alone in an alien world
Where earthlings invent comfort zones
boundaries, borders, counties & religions
All controlled with creeds of peace and love
in practice the opposite is The Law
A punishment planet where poverty feeds
rich power hungry A1 dynasties
Who exert their force over all dominions
(mineral, plant, animal & human life)
Alone at night I stand naked under stars
looking at my true home planet
A billion light years away.

©MRL 14-09-2012

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

08 - 2012

The island of Ireland

I walk on heather clad mountains
where deep peat blankets a secret
Supported by ancient rock
that was once a river bed in Africa
Sitting now in cold north atlantic 
children of Gondwanaland
Migrated to Ireland and feel at home !


© MRL   Sept 12th  2012

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

07-2012

CROCUS



She glides across rooms in my mind

leaving a perfumed trace

a malleable presence of her

unique being speaks to me



Unconsciously I utter her message 

preparing the ground

scattering ripe forms

of organic shape



Words born from clays birthed in earth

fired in volcanic heat

cooled softened tempered

sit gently on the page

or

in air float lovingly.


© MRL 19-06-12



Tuesday, May 29, 2012

06 - 2012

GENTLY.


Gently touch finger tips
to finger tips, hers.


Time elongated.


A pearl brightly fell
or was it 
A raindrop light filled.


That created a mystic mind spell.


What charm did she cast
or potion distill.


Perhaps none.


Nothing so rudely earthy
wormed out of clay.


Such as this sensitive synchronicity 
of two spirits


Who momentarily 


Shared and Enjoyed 
each others energy.




©MRL 29-05 -12

Monday, May 28, 2012

05- 2012

Lip Tease.


the Women 
I fear to kiss
have a long mouth 
Thin 
slightly rendered 
for on
such  lips
I might slip 
swallowed
whole 
forever
gone.

Yet
Sweet
 rosebud
lips
plump pink
even 
lush red
ripe
moving
slightly
side to side
encourages
me 
to 
linger
and 
I'll say 
no more
for
your imagination
is all……….



© MRL 18-05-12

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Neither prose or poem


Please read this first as it is my explanation of what follows.

1. This piece of writing concerns my considered thought, knowledge and reflection as such itis neither prose nor poem but offered as my philosophical musings.

2. I feel the need to say this, that my spirituality does not follow any religion or concepts of religious beliefs and that it is Knowledge that is my driving force from ideas created from life-experiences.



He might be my ancient ancestor
that Old God Brenin Llwyd
or even as Gwyn ap Nudd
the Grey King of the mists
who sat on Cader Idris and Eryri.
A powerful figure, a proud deity
seen as a threat to change
by priests of a foreign God.
He must have been popular
for they gave him a bad name.
and bedevilled him with shame.



Strange, their God is All  Love
and in His name came
slaughter and torture of
men, women and children
by fire, rope and sword
so to teach a world their Word.
Experts with cruel imagination
with lessons on fear,devil and sin.
Many years have passed, their priests
are now branded by folly and misdeed.


An awakening has come, for some,
for the Old Gods still live in popular tales 
now that we have learned 
to reverse the meaning and found 
a world alive with fairies, 
elemental energy and the ever living ones.
We embrace now Herbalists, Healers, Diviners
Druids, Seers and Wise Women in praise of children.
No fears of dying and death 
for all is cyclic, with evidence 
from past lives, we all rotate.



© MRL 24-4-2012


Wednesday, April 18, 2012

04 - 2012

Manannán and Maeve


Magical music of mountain mists
heard by attuned subtle ears
As swathes of vapour sing in high tone
to wash slow against jagged stone

Listen as deep bass notes enthrone
again old god Manannán whose feet
Chase and drum on hollowed cairn
awakening Maeve to link and dance 

Her gown rustles like wet leaves
in wind as a softly thumbed timbrel
Sings across fairy hill and dell
she their Queen and him the King

A royal couple in courtship hidden waltz
sheathed in opaque white glide serene
Through hazel woods to secret groves 
this ancient loving ritual ever continues.


© MRL 18th April 2012

Friday, April 13, 2012

03 -2012

Iníon Búi

She Bwee at dawn is golden, her form beauty
her breath vapour threads that spin to weave
waking dreams in our minds for so inspired
we cry for a filament to remain all day.

These lines were inspired from my inner vision
after hearing of Iníon Búi whose name means
golden haired one.She is the daughter of the Cailleach
(Bwee is the phoenetic of Búi)

© 13-04-2012

Monday, February 20, 2012

02 - 2012

Margaret Price née Bailey


I remember Margaret.
From an early age in Kingsteignton
When hay was made in the old way.
The road men had a green shed on wheels
towed by a shiny green steamroller.
The nightwatchman had red lamps
to tend at the cross roads.
Other men of the road were tramps.



I remember Margaret
She had a tortoise and a pond with gold fish
and When happy which was often
her warm laughter tumbled, fluctuated
like golden leaves falling though sunlight.
She drove a pale green Austin car
over unadopted bumpy roads.



I remember Margaret
Her father, he embarrassed me
asking - My intentions to his daughter
An awkward question when you are 7
and she of twenty-four or five
I shared my philately plus chocolate
while listening to her laughter!



I remember Margaret
especially now for no more will
her chuckle ring alive in my ear
Serve only in memory.
Rest in peace my dear
Jan 3rd 1926 - Feb 6th 2012

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

01 -2012

My Inheritance.


A wild wet wind ravages this January night
and legs sore from excema rage as a simile.
Herbal remedies bitter sweet I drink and think
to swallow down and liken as a new raw whisky.


In this battle I cannot complain of newness
and Yet there is a rant about cruel inheritance
Of genes distorted from twisted forebears,
that cause sleeping fingers to tear skin.


I weep not, nor pray for the lost long dead.
For these words are part of my cleansing,
a ridding from the liver to be emptied and
To be torn away by January's strong storm.


© MRL 25 - 01- 2012