Freaky Friday

astronautEating apple pie,
on the fourth of July.
Hope soaring in the sky
reveries flying high.
Expectations I can’t deny.
New York is where I’d fly.
America dreaming in my eye,
and it’s no wonder why!
Will my visa qualify?
They may think I am a spy,
and I’d be left high and dry.
I’ll breathe a deep sigh
and end up in Uruguay.
I would be terrified.
Well how about Shanghai?
That won’t satisfy,
maybe have another try,
or go to Hawaii.
I love the thought of Versailles,
my plans may go awry
but that does not imply
that I’m really kinda shy!
My humour is quite wry
though I should specify
that if I qualify,
I may preoccupy
the way that I reply.
I can dignify,
that I’m not an alumni.
When I’m put on standby,
I’ll read “catcher in the Rye”,
watch the series “Firefly”,
enjoy cartoons like Popeye
and sing sweet lullabies.
Maybe meet the sultan of Brunei…
I hope they have Wi-Fi!
An Astronaut may testify
that I can’t grow Bonsai.
I ramble, I know not why,
I’m trying to make time fly.
I may need an alibi,
when they hear how much I lie.
I’ve escaped into sci-fi.
I’m not a Gemini.
Please do not notify
the authorities at CSI.
They may intensify
the search with the FBI.
I’ll have to justify,
the need to indemnify
the fact I was in Zhuhai.
Dr Who will verify
that I’m a social butterfly,
and so I’ll state hereby
that I do not qualify,
to be a Samurai.
I’m just a wise guy
taking the red-eye
to a place near Mumbai,
with a stop over in Dubai.
If you’re mystified
I do apologise
words are in short supply
But before I make you cry,
this poem typifies
my need to ratify,
that rhymes do comply
with verses I amplify.
I promise the end is nigh,
aye, aye…
Let me smile and wave goodbye…..



“Don’t be afraid. Change is such a beautiful thing”, said the Butterfly.”
Sabrina Newby

Layers of invisibility
covering form.
Wisps of docile fragrance
ignite the inner storm.
Filtered existence
exposed by the light.
Darkened illusions
turning into white.
Blossoming luster,
hidden majesty,
from obscurity
to glory’s destiny.
Through forgotten portals
appears a soft glow,
a sparkling attendance,
speaking vibrant flow.
From the husk emerging
a hidden essence,
unexpected movement,
abundant presence.
Alighting on wings,
that exude harmony,
core sounds emitting
from the dormancy.
A spectacle of silence,
a wordless response,
transcendent being,
a place to belong.
The quiescent life force
submerged in dark earth;
arising into fullness,
a luminous rebirth.



“There is a gust of eternity in every fleeting moment.”
Marty Rubin


Your fragrance is transient
in my memory.
Your light only touches me
in ephemeral beams.
A shooting star of
a life once lived.
Waves of fleeting recollections,
fly in like fragile souvenirs.
I try to grasp
these transitory dreams,
but you evanesce
quietly back into the ether.
Like vanishing dew,
I’m left with just the
taste of your gentleness
on my skin.



“Waiting and hoping is a hard thing to do when you’ve already been waiting and hoping for almost as long as you can bear it.”
Jenny Nimmo


She waited in an
empty hallway,
ghostly images,
choked the doorway.
Her heart was a lump
in her chest;
her pulse was still,
veins compressed.
She pleaded
for some lucidity,
blinded by odious

Scenes of living
were all around;
her life force
had run aground.
malignant malaise,
her breath inevitably
Unseen tears flowed on
unhinged pain;
“will she ever be the same?”

People gathered everywhere,
in shadows,
their somber stares
Mists of consciousness,
numbed by
Nothing touched
the dingy void,
dark and deep,
light being destroyed.

Angels saw the crimson
of her shattered
A divine presence
drew her breath,
mystical strength.

Worst case scenario
brought to life
her true confessions.
She tried to grasp hope,
just out of reach
mumbled words
that she did beseech.
Her pounding heart,
evoking life,
the wonderful creation
by design.
Imprisoned by her
own isolation,
lost in discontinued

Dirty hallways
of torture “am I alive”,
she couldn’t recall
the brightness of sunshine.

Her phone buzzed;
she jumped out of her skin,
gulped air,
her head in a spin.

Is this the news
that will restart her heart
or will the anguish
just tear her apart?


When breath let her rest

“In my deepest wound I saw your glory, and it dazzled me.”
― Augustine of Hippo

woundsRaining pelts of insanity,
tore her from repose.
Clothed in blackened robes
she was driven to the edge.
Light could not pursue,
she outran its radiant beams.
But in the wake of day
when breath let her rest,
her wounds finally surrendered.
The sacred scars of adornment
became jewels of inner light.


Mid-Winter blues

“Now is the winter of our discontent”
William Shakespeare
mid winter

My mid-winter blues,
spilled in wispy hues.
Trees have fallen bare,
winds are unaware.
In simmering twilight,
swallows have taken flight.
Misty morns are veiled
with warm breath exhaled.
I call spring from slumber,
tired of winter’s plunder.
My discontent abates,
when sunshine resonates.