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Well I don't feel up

Well I don't feel up to ranting today and I need to remind myself of what it is that brought me to writing in the first place anyway, so I thought I'd throw up some more of my poetry today. The two pieces I'm posting today are ones that reflect a lot of the attitudes and feelings that I express on a daily basis here, but instead of focusing on issues they are more heart and soul centred. Enjoy. Of course, not being one to pass up a chance to plug my work, if you like them you can buy them from my store front link. I've got two published books of poems, both priced to own.

Inspiration

A robin�s song
borne upon a morning air
flutter past
straining ear,
the full notes throb
with hints of promised
beauty,
mesmerizing joy.

Tantalizing rainbows;
refractions of spring�s first rain on budding leaves,
stay nimbly beyond reach
of grasping paws scampering
to hold multicoloured prey.

Is it possible,
or desired,
to pin you for display
like some exotic specimen?

Long targeted by courtiers of either sex,
your charms are not so easily won,
never will you ever commit
to one alone.

To have you swoon in
one�s arms like a Pre Raphaelit heroine;
fly away curls laid in the crock of an arm,
china doll face looking back through half closed lids,
would salve many an ego.

But no fainting fancy you,
no amount of blandishment
entices you to fully expose your charms.
A true burlesque queen,
you proffer glimpse through
feather, fans and veils,
of what awaits those suitors
who without success,
storm your battlements.

Whilst young heroes
shower you with tokens of affection;
praise your virtues,
curse your fickleness,
and pursue you loudly in the taverns
and coffee bars.
I have learned to patiently,
graciously,
await,
appreciate,
each casual glance
and errant whisper that comes my way.


new orphans

We are orphans of the world.
With no tribe to claim us
or village for shelter,
we wander the desserts
of society.

No god sent down plagues
to frighten a pharaoh,
no prophesies of hope or doom
loosened fetters.
Not for freedom our exodus,
but exile.

Each step from the womb,
birth, childhood, adolescence,
separated, changed and shaped us,
leaving no choices.

The grief of leave taking,
the pain of those left behind;
the incomprehension that shines
from hurt eyes;
accents the depths of our alienation.

Out here is no faith to preach
or follow,
only the souls own teaching.
Nor is their need for scraps
passing for toils reward.

Sorrow�s tears water garden
that bring forth seedlings of hope
which will bear the fruit of dreams
and timber for
foundations.
The oldest of fires
light our faces,
warms our bodies,
and ignites beacons
to guide those who are to follow.

Eyes the see deeper,
ears that hear quicker,
and tongues that speak truer.
Clear notes amid dissonance:
birthmarks that turn
faces from the centre.

Find the paths laid down,
for others have
gone before,
make it out the wilderness
to alone
with all the others.

hope you enjoyed
cheers
gypsyman


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