Month: March 2013

A Created Life

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boat photo

Mind Games
Pealing apart the layers of our mind,
Glued together with words, stitched by time,
It unfolds unevenly, breaking up on
Reflections of what probably happened,
Quivering at heart felt dreams of what might
Have played out, had no winter arrived.

© David R. Durham
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Memories In Stone

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poetry

Memories In Stone
Can memories turn to stone? Can the breath
Of life leave enduring traces, skeletons
In time, long past the memory of living
Men? Pulsating, vibrant mind, captured in
More than flesh and blood of flowering brain.

© David R. Durham
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Dancing Through Each Day

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Tree Tops WaterMark

Dancing Through Each Day
It hit me one Autumn morning;
As I shuddered to a halt.

All future plans went up in smoke;
And my past became just vague memories.

My mental Juggernaut ran out of gas;
Is this what death feels like I wondered.

For those whose time is up;
A terminal condition diagnosed and delivered.

No pretty words to save us;
In fact, no words at all.

Yet, all was calm, all is calm.
No panic, no breakdown.

Just a reminder of what is real;
And who I am not.

A still-point in a moving world;
A silent pause in a long line of chatter.

An alignment in time and space;
When all cycles cancel each other out.

The rhythms pick up;
Whose rhythms I’m not sure.

Rhythms of cells, of souls, of universes;
Dynamic as if by Grace.

New rhythmic cycles begin to unfold;
Dancing through each day.

© David R. Durham
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Tribal Roots

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poetry

Tribal Roots
Tickle the time when your dreams can come true,
Leave behind old scores unsettled, magnify
Your hopes and twist the reality we call fate.

Lie merchants breath life into old bones dangling,
In the soft comfortable chair paused in time,
Channel after channel of dreamers delight.

Seldom have we marched to one drum beat,
Seldom have we sung one anthem so loud,
Tribal roots calling, calling us back home.

Shuffle softly to the head of the queue,
Where dark dim archways beckon us away from
The cold, caves of welcome invite us in.

© David R. Durham
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O’ Bag a Bones

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dead bird

O’ Bag a Bones

O’ bag a bones does thou lie t’ me? Now
I recognise thee on waking, thee I
Know, Does’t thou recognise waking me?

O’ bag a bones thy life so fancy, thy story
Well told, again and again thy rymes unfold, each
Passing second, each fanciful hour thy
Tale weaves another carefully wrought thread of life.

O’ bag a bones thy feels so old, a story
Long in the tellin’, a stop start yarn, a
Dream come true in eaten moments, thy’s not
Me lad, thy’s not me, but who are thee in
Striding rhymic gait and in winceful smile.

O’ bag a bones thy story stinks. Thy thinks folk
Like thee, thy thinks folk ignore thee, nay lad,
Thy thinks too much. Thy’s imagining it lad.

O’ bag a bones lay down thy heavy burden,
Stop thy dreaming, thy imagined fanciful
Life. Thy’s story tellin’ from morn’ ’til night, in
Pain and pleasure, wi’ boredom and fear, in
Well rehearsed lustful hardship.

O’ bag a bones thy day is through, thy end
Is restful night, dark night, lost again to sleep,
Lost again to hope of what new day might bring,
O’ bag a bones am I thy lie of me?

© David R. Durham
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Sleepy Head

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poems

Sleep
Sleep, sleep and rest your time filled head, rest
Easy in your time liberated dreams. Dance, dance,
Flow with the rhythm of life’s dream-time, before
Simple me arises again with the morning sun.

© David R. Durham
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Entrances & Exits

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poetry

Tell me Mr. Doorman, what shall I pay you
To keep the world at bay? The other world,
That other place, you know which one I mean.

Tell me Mr. Gatekeeper, what fee must
I pay to let me pass this way? A long
Forbidden path, you know the one I mean.

© David R. Durham
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