No Room

TRUMPETS WILL BLAST, ANNOUNCING CHRISTMAS AT LAST,
NOT THE ANCIENT MASS OF CHRIST,
COVETNESS, BRIBERY, RESOUNDS THE NEW TRUMPET,
REPEATING THEIR EVERLASTING SOUND.
USHERING IN PROMISES OF HOPE, FELICITATIONS,
THE ORIGINAL PROCLAMATION.
NOW WRAPPED IN TINSEL, THE GOODNEWS,
GLITTERS, SHIMMERS, GLOWS, FLICKERS,
DISGUISES THE MESSAGE AS ANGELIC LIGHT.
BELLS RING FROM THE BELFRY TIDINGS OF GOODWILL TO ALL MEN,
NAGGING, TEMPTING, ENTICING, DRILL,
SHEEP WHO FOLLOW GONE ASTRAY WITHOUT FREE MINDS,
SHAME THE MASSES INTO DEBT,
GREED, STATUS, ALL FOR THE SAKE OF BELONGING.
NOW THEY PAY HOMAGE TO THE GOLDEN CALF GODS’
SANTA CLAUS, ADVANCEMENT, MATERIALISM, THEMSELVES,
PERCEPTION BY MODERN SEERS OF AN ENLIGHTENED ERA,
HOPEFUL MOTHER THERESA’S EMERGE,
GENEROISITY, SELFLESS ACTS, BROWNIE POINT LADDERS TO HEAVEN,
THE LATEST FAD OR CHARITABLE ACT?
THE STILL VOICE OF TIME, HUMBLE, ENTREATING INVITATIONAL,
WHISPERS UNSEEN, NO ROOM IN THE INN,
NOTHINGS’ CHANGED, MANKIND’S FALLEN NATURE REMAINS,
NO ROOM,
NO ROOM.

‘What Say You?’

(A Tornado’s Perspective)

 

Trust me not with your children

For I will strip them from your arms

Your selfish pleas ignored

Weak, sobbing sadness dashed

Ha, as are your dreams!

What say you now, of home?

Of long life, in tornado alley?

I have broken you with ease

Freed you from the foolishness

of arrogantly standing in my way

Now your significance lies limp

flung across fields of splintered debris

Across nature’s thousand year old path

Your unwelcome boxed landscape

ripped and torn, dirty, bedraggled

as trauma matting your daughter’s hair

What say you now of your God?

What say you now, of me!

                                                          *~ Pearldiver ~

Copyright © 2015 Rob Welsh – Pearldiver with all rights reserved.

The Gallery Wall

In the gallery, the men are naked

Fleshy in a stark brown world

Outlines of forest, bodies, raking the eye

There are objects, too, to tease

Metal waves and flying houses

Languid, pouty recumbent women

And politics: capitalism and socialism

Writ bold and screaming, angular.

An artist at work, to test our minds

To remind us we are weak

That we are but flesh and ideas

Pinned down by convention, that

We want to step in to the picture

STRANGE RUSH

Fuzzy on rotation,
turning funniness
to tear
the living colours,
blue.

In the comedy,
I’m dying
finding sequence
peppers

Prophecy,
and you don’t need
to move
to watch the glitter

Dusting, uninspiring
agelessness.
An unexpected beauty,
lost,
is an inspiration.

© A2Kdavis 2016

 

Poe – a medley

             I

 I read him with

toe in ear

and        tap

on

there.  Is

 

art – is not?

gratuitous

gore;

 

and eek ca-

daver?  Nor

lacks whole

feather, poor

 

bunny or

wife;

 

for a dear

fest

of contrast.

 

         II

 

Art I spy –

undeveloped eye:

unshut

and failing

in the dark.

 

I see a mind

in nailing

with a clock;

 

and it

will

stop.

 

III

 

But you return, you

corpse, in the moonlight;

in the gallows

of a cat’s throat.

 

It billows

– this mind –

with curtain

and sheet;

 

her sighs of

which

are weak.

 

And if I live:

you stale, Love,

in some bleak

ailment of the eye

 

– a film,

as blue as the breath

of morning dew –

 

and stare at me

from the livers

of lakes

 

or

penetrate

the dark.

‘The Shame of Pike River’

 ‘The Shame of Pike River’

 

Here, down here we remain:

Here, in New Zealand’s dark history

the longest shift to truly believe,

we’d see the sunlight again

 

We need a beer

and a shower and real sleep

The batteries failed down here,

oh so very long ago

But still in hope,

we work this pit, even though

 

It’s just that we feel as if,

we’re never coming home

As if, the world has stopped and died

And we can’t get out

and they can’t get in

and the politicians promised

that no matter what

we’d be relieved you see 

 

But now it looks to me;

That in truth’s reality

of the negligence that applied

the guilty have never, truly tried

We want to say thanks

for remembering us

Remember the dreams we all shared?

Never forget, when they justify why

we remain down here, never forget

they lied, when they said they cared!

 

We’ve longed for a beer

a shower and just a simple feed

Down here missing our families

and the concept of what should be

But they won’t let them in

and we can’t get out, you see

 

No matter what they say

this isn’t the way

such good lives should end

Politically abandoned

left down here in the dark

We are always the 29

Lost and still waiting to be freed

from the shame of Pike River Mine

 

Time doesn’t erode promises;

just the chance to make amends

In doom’s silence down here

the last man alive will, without fear

lay down his tools knowing why

those who should really be here

have buried the truth, to seal the lie

 

Remember what we loved

how we lived, why we died

Carry us home from down here

with friends always held dear

if you will, when you can

For only then may we,

rest in peace finally

With the dignity owed, to each man…

                                                                         *~ Pearldiver ~                   

 * A Tribute to the 29 Real People Left Behind 19th November 2010*

Copyright © 2011 Rob Welsh ~ Pearldiver with all rights reserved.

The beginning and the End

2016-flower-abstractimg_3454-small-hoiuse…. Alpha and Omega the beginning and the end,
Where did it begin and where will it end?
The voice that spoke, ‘Let there be light’ from
chaos, void, where the spirit brooded,
rang throughout the universe.
An instrument of the divines’ voice,
Tis music to those with ears to hear.
Cockles and bells on your toes, she shall
have’ Music wherever she goes’
What are the sources for the symphony…?
That waits; maybe a chorus will greet
from creations’ creatures,
A song from the tribe of birds,
The trill of laughter from a child,
Clatter, banging of cups and plates,
Radio blasting with a song,
Sounds of mornings’ orchestra have come.
The weeping as you’re touched in your inner core
whilst you listen to the magic source.
It moves, breathes, soaks, encompasses,
blankets, invades, resounds, surrounds,
permeates, births,
Everywhere we go, in all we do, are…
comes music, song, melody, tune, harmony,
Symphonies, orchestras, beat, rhythm,
Our bodies, minds, relationships, creation,
Instruments in the Creators’ hand,
Where long ago music began with choirs
Of angelic hosts who sang,
Good will and peace to all men.

…. Alpha and Omega the beginning and the end,
Where did it begin and where will it end?
The voice that spoke, ‘Let there be light’ from
chaos, void, where the spirit brooded,
rang throughout the universe.
An instrument of the divines’ voice,
Tis music to those with ears to hear.
Cockles and bells on your toes, she shall
have’ Music wherever she goes’
What are the sources for the symphony…?
That waits; maybe a chorus will greet
from creations’ creatures,
A song from the tribe of birds,
The trill of laughter from a child,
Clatter, banging of cups and plates,
Radio blasting with a song,
Sounds of mornings’ orchestra have come.
The weeping as you’re touched in your inner core
whilst you listen to the magic source.
It moves, breathes, soaks, encompasses,
blankets invades, resounds, surrounds,
permeates, births,
Everywhere we go, in all we do, are…
comes music, song, melody, tune, harmony,
Symphonies, orchestras, beat, rhythm,
Our bodies, minds, relationships, creation,
Instruments in the Creators’ hand,
Where long ago music began with choirs
Of angelic hosts who sang,
Good will and peace to all men.

The Gentleman Farmer

The gentleman from the farm, his long stride wrapped in moleskin

has reached the edge of town and his endurance.

He has come for relief: a bellowing steer.

It’s so difficult now, away from the farm’s sheltered spots

where a man could raise long-neck and feel the fizz of the fluid on the tongue and at the base of the brain;

give a full-body shake as the alcohol fed the cells.

What to do now, here, in bloody town, with the lawn and hedge (and neighbours).

Well, the wife wanted to come in and promises were made –

So now you lengthen your stride and your tongue is out