you like a fly glide

across the still lake

away from..

my shoes

on the sand, arms

flat, dead

lumber;

& you

indolent, leant

on the side, so

cool, inside

on fire,

say nothing;

& I,

too dead

to part my lips,

to say

your name,

trace

the lines the water makes

when you go.

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You think you know it all………………..
Yet do you know if there’s ocasionally a moment
When the sun prefers decline than shine?
Like the man in the moon……
The sun, she can change her tune

Day when the seconds run so dry
and up in that sky, she taunts us
to be done for the day
and let sleep come………..
she should occasionally let such happen

Cos me, I’m waisting a portion
in hesitation
oh, I’d love to call it meditation
there’s a loosness to what i achieve
and believe all deep
yet I’m trite and write nonsense

Cos it saves me
from blotting out the sun

Life, drawn from that lady
The green and gold
Squandered
She just keeps up and on
So should I

When she slips down
in marmalade hues
In her shoes
think I’d say”to hell with it!”

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My youth is gone from me.

I might strike

some lucky stone (who knows),

random kicks along

the mile-long road by my

old school. I learned there

to choose to choose

over you, and you… anything but this

piss-pot of a room, uniform

desk and chair; two-hundred boys

in the same… clothes:

in two months I learn to forget,

suppress my acute

embarrassment.

Some boys I called

friends. We’d meet before 9

on the stairwell; toss a coin,

and, heads or tails,

jumped the bus for the West End

girls of Kensington

and Notting Hill.

In Italy, me and Coronetta

were delinquenti,

and the Chiesa Cattolica

would have condemned us

for making music, fiddling

the acoustics of a vaulted ceiling:

angelical!

–

if it were known. There were no

animate witnesses, tho’: the saints

looked on, livid like stone; said

nothing.

Have I not been punished

sufficiently? I live well, I suppose:

drink wine, eat leavened bread

from the best bakeries.

But Coronetta failed

one day to hold his

heroin. That boy was 15

when I laid hands on him,

and he was full of smiles. Well,

My youth is gone from me.

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(Tiri Tiri Matangi Island ~ My Lighthouse Home as it was)

Rounded rocks glisten with each lap, lap, lap

of small splashes learning to become waves

On the western side of my island home

great life is born to play

In a magical place that holds

the essence of many souls

Whispering to each now gone

Never forget, here you stay

At the southern end of the island

stands a lighthouse

Phallic pride has remained intact

for over one hundred and fifty years

Dressed in rough white cement

cast iron spiral steps climb steeply to the lamp

Each smoothly boasting of every sole met

every soul they’ve ever touched

Guiding a tenacious young child

crawling to the top, without fear

On the eastern side of paradise

comes Venus before the Sun

Skipping purposely across the ocean

to gradually light the shores

A departing moon concedes

and fades high above the west

Switched off, like midnight’s stars

now the lighthouse sleeps

as the dawn temptress shows

an island’s nakedness to the world

There is a special little cove

set within the northern shores

If you dig very carefully

you will find ancient fossils in the rock

Perhaps a tiny shell complete

with a snail’s million year old dreams

Laying unseen, meaning nothing to those

not blessed to learn of life this way

In nature’s classroom, on an island home

I learned to be, who I am today

Early morning sea breeze mists

cloak the stillness of my hopes

with a deep urge to search in haste

for mushrooms, freshly spawned

Always there before the sunrise

breakfast anticipation known for its taste

Across wet paddocks, no time to rest

for white gold shines, in filtered light

Buckets to fill with only the very best

Progress, change and adapt

became my family’s Darwinian call

Although evolution’s cost will always

bring degrees of sadness to all

hearts attached to one’s prior home

A city was such an alien place

with so few paddocks to explore

It seemed my rural ways would not fit

so I had to learn, a whole lot more

As opposites attract I married a city girl

who zealously clung to her city ways

far beyond a lighthouse’s sweeping light

and seabirds haunting calls at night

A pretty city face and pretty heart

with absolutely no rural island clue

Young raised in city ways had to do

Though always I clung to the hope

that one day I could share

What finding wild fruit really means

to every country kid lost within a city

where even nature struggles to cope

People are so very different

in the things they value most

Sadly where we come from

often means, we don’t always agree

On how important wild mushrooms are

when found before fully grown

Or how special every splash is

to any worn and rounded stone

or to any city child who doesn’t see

the power of nature at her best

Or to every country kid who confessed

nature makes him, happy just to be

All country kids start out

with pretty faces, pretty hearts

But many never truly understand

the city ways and its pulsing energies

So they struggle adapting to new ways

and that growing importance to be seen

as something they are not inside

irrespective of the theme

Believing that city kids like to move on

without missing, places they have been

All city kids start out

with pretty faces, pretty hearts

But many will never truly understand

or even care less, what it is to be

a child alone before the sunrise

searching for a special taste

Greeting each days dawn with

all the anticipation that it takes

To learn firsthand nature’s ways

and every subtle move she makes

In time, so many pretty faces

and pretty hearts change to ugly

When they lose self esteem

learn to bully, or learn to be mean

How I’ve always wondered, perhaps naively

Why some people feel, that angry need to be

What if all country and city kids

cared about each other, without fear

If they understood their uniqueness

and why others are different here

Would that not make them

more balanced and able to see

Why they have pretty faces, pretty hearts

and every chance, to just agree

I’ve always missed my island home

What its natural beauty meant to me

How I learned to believe in uniqueness

found isolation teaches us to be brave

And how important life truly is

to worn rounded rocks and every tiny splash

when learning to become a wave…

*~ Pearldiver ~

 Copyright © 2009 Rob Welsh – Pearldiver with all rights reserved.

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