The pleasant day expressed
in the smiles of passengers.
Babes asleep, breasts all pert,
the Spring-time thickening.
The on and off from stop to stop
I smile inside – it’s life.
But what bitterness has brought me to this juncture,
where I peel back the pleasantries
and vent again, once more:
the words contorted – I am afraid
for I’ve had dreams
of which I cannot speak.
©TheHairyTeacher2013
Degree drops from
The digital display.
Once as hot as hell
Now unbearably less.
There is a coolness
For the damned.
In the soft yellow-orange of sunset,
There may yet be respite.
For the meek there
Is nothing, not till
The very end.
They don’t shelter
In the glory of shadows
And the rising and the setting
of all things celestial.
Their wait is longer –
Bound in time,
If legitimate,
But maybe not their lifetime,
And therefore,
They may never know.
“If I die into nothing
I will forever remain ignorant,
Unknowing as to
My own fate.”
Amen
[And this will be the only true infinity. Timeless. Unbound. Nothing!]
©TheHairyTeacher2013
I cannot leave behind what I have not forsaken
And so it is, that
While the distance grows most physical
I’ll be by you
As you by me
Our hearts not tempered
By the sheer
Logic
And bitterness
Of other people’s
Fears!
©TheHairyTeacher2013
Out off the blocks,
trembling forward.
The grace robbed
by the memory.
The mind inspired,
alert
to repetition,
stretching, exercising,
conspiracy.
The force of the road –
pulsating,
the joints warn,
send signals
of doubt,
perhaps shame.
They wanted to be
but couldn’t,
at least not
anymore.
The snowfall
unexpected, yet
not surprising:
there was a hint
at this,
even forecasted.
But the heavy flakes
stain the scene
allowing a litter,
confetti curtain,
A Monday morning’s
company.
©TheHairyTeacher2013
There was little I could do
beyond listen to the sighs.
My mind fatigued was not
about to offer up surprise.
Instead I surrendered in myself
the chalice of my mind –
up to the break of day’s delight,
up to the end of time.
©TheHairyTeacher2013
Highfalutin promises
predictably denied,
and the bell
peeled
and the feet stomped,
on and on.
Ignorant, tolerant-
the two worlds fused,
till the negative
and positive
complementing,
compelled…
Man to think again
life to soar again
beyond the known
realms of a
limited
imagination.
All hail our Deity
the one true calamity
who could’ve
given life,
given choice,
but needn’t have
included our
flawed humanity!
©TheHairyTeacher2013
The failing virtue
measured by the
rising vice.
Both in place
according to the
guilt complex.
And so a mind
made redundant seeks
to balance
the equation.
In search of
spirituality
it shakes its
heathen flag
against the
grey sky of
an early morn.
Beyond the traffic’s
tempest
there floats to
reason, alms:
the supplication
necessary
through the toxic
fumes.
In search again
in search as
always.
Enlightened I
shall carry
opposites – as questions –
in a gently tightened
fist;
ready to pulse,
to fizz,
to judge.
Ready to open –
extended…
The palm.
©TheHairyTeacher2013
That death may liberate me
into the brief eternity.
When spiritually inclined,
I’ll fade
And, fundamentally, then
I’m dead:
And all my life before will cease,
and nothing more will exist to me.
At least this, and nothing more.
Nothing else it is I’m looking for.
The rotten truth
the freedom set,
my bones to ashes
will be met,
and cycle, circles,
nowt profound…
Just life itself
in the round and round.
Earth to self and sun
and stars.
What suffering now
Will, no one cares:
But, alas this lesson
yet to learn
for those who hope
in others yearn.
A life once got
ever anon.
A moment spent
too soon is gone.
But maybe memory is all.
In cellular derived
and growth
so up again from
ashes drawn.
Up again to
life once more!
©TheHairyTeacher2013
On a cold grey balcony
on a cold grey afternoon
sitting snuggly, on
the edge of chill –
with a new grey
cardigan
and a cup of earl grey tea,
a breeze for a second
took my attention from reading.
The tea’s paper tag
‘black tea’ it announced
fluttered in this breeze
on a white window.
The air still and colourless
but grey at its depth –
white and black
all shift to grey –
as I sat back,
reading my book of
short stories.
The briefest of moments
just then captured me
and the slightest of breezes
moved me to think
moved my environment,
The fine hairs on my cheeks;
I felt its freshness
its message.
I was alive.
©TheHairyTeacher2013
Along the highways
and the byways
the highroads
and the low,
chasing ill-begotten
dreams
along the swampy
seams of my soul.
Forever searching
feeling lost
the future set
at any cost.
Along the pathways
banks and shores,
I was what now I’ll never know.
©TheHairyTeacher2013
