Fireworks

Abstract_WM

Fireworks
All the fireworks sparkled and crackled,
And the neon lights rippled and shone,
As people sauntered, shopped and surveyed,
Some walked hand in hand.

All their frowns and their glowing smiles,
And their hopes and unquiet desires,
As their animated chatter splashed and gurgled,
Some felt alive as seldom before.

All gifts wrapped with their sweetest words,
And gifts chosen with their fullest of hearts,
As diligently bought as happily shared,
Some gifts won as cherished prizes.

All relishing their mythic journey,
And they loved here and they failed there,
As children they cherished and charmed,
Some bewitched by the soothing embrace of time.

© David R. Durham

JabberJabber

poetry

Jabber Jabber
Welcome to the world of the monkey mind,
Which never stops jabbering ’till the end of time,
The news man jabbers and the DJ jabbers and jabbers and jabbers.

Love talks, money talks, pep talks, ain’t it time we had a talk,
The lyrics are sweet, the lyrics are sad,
The lyrics remind us of good times we once had.

Even in our silent moments our mind jabbers on, and on, and on,
All night in our sleep our dreams jabber on and on,
As we jabber on down to the end of our time.

© David R. Durham

Attachments

HK Sculpture WM

Attachment
Navigating life’s unfolding flow,
Caught up in happy gifts of memories,
Weighed down by past regret and sadness,
Sweet sticky, foulest sticky moments,
Bold hope now races ahead childlike,
Merciless fear dogs our sleepless night terrors,
All happening where? Happening to who?

© David R. Durham

Wheat Fields

JumpingGirl_WM

Wheat Fields
Wind rolls through ripened wheat fields,
Weaving and flowing, natural dance,
Children’s shouts echo as they run, run
And play, dogs barking at startled
Wild rabbits running for new cover,
Red combine harvesters revving,
Warm summer’s fragrance fills the air,
Dust gathers round the first clean cuts,
Blades biting and biting the ripe tall stalks,
Earth’s bounty threshed, wheat from chaff.

© David R. Durham

Labels

poems

Labels
What would we do without labels?
A label for this, a label for that;

Ah yes, now I know you, here’s your label,
Friend, co-worker, awkward git, good sense of humour;

And how would we shop without labels?
Oh yes, I must have this one, but definitely not that one;

Could our health system function without labels?
Mmmmm, you’re suffering from X, with maybe a touch of Y;

Does knowing lots of labels for things make us more intelligent?
Think educational systems, quiz shows, puzzles galore;

And what if we run out of mental space for our labels?
They must take up huge amounts of mental real estate;

Do our labels stop us from looking any further and so semi-blind us?
Maybe we rely on them too much;

Can you sum up a life, a person, an experience with a label?
Maybe there is a label for that problem too.

© David R. Durham

The Angry Men

poetry
The Angry Men
The angry men swarmed across the Earth,
Cawing with their fractious voices,
Driven by their untamed hearts,
Lustful in their greedy nature,
Filled with perfidious self-doubts,
Friends with fulsome fear.

The angry men ignore Earth’s grace,
Sucking the lands dry,
Seizing their false birthright,
Wealth their unholy credo,
Filled with well disguised grief,
Friends with blood-sucking despair.

The angry men born of pained birth,
Slapped with welcoming rough hand,
Conceived in a fit of poisoned rage,
Inherited complicit guilt,
Filled with dark pools of sadness,
Friends with midnight terror.

© David R. Durham

The Offering

poetry

The Offering
Sacred invocations gently calling,
Sculpted ebony hands, clasped prayer like,
Tribal keepers of lore, wisdom and love.

Voices awash with ancient memories,
Earth pulse, effortless dancing, raptured chants,
Forgotten time, forgotten self, home again.

Love woven hearts in blissful surrender,
Earthy fragrant aroma melts their minds,
Naught but this, naught but complete release now.

© David R. Durham

Echoes

poetry

Echoes of Somewhere

Somewhere there is a beating human heart,
Human heart, human heart;

Somewhere there is a heart that is singing,
Is singing, is singing;

Somewhere there is our dearest lover,
Dearest lover, dearest lover;

Somewhere there is the warmest of smiles greeting us,
Greeting us, greeting us;

Somewhere there is our human life, consumed and soon forgotten,
Soon forgotten, soon forgotten;

Somewhere there is an angel chanting, chanting our healing songs,
Healing songs, healing songs;

Somewhere there is a truth so near, so simple,
So simple, so simple;

Somewhere there is an eternal home we never left,
Never left, never left;

Somewhere there is a God who never believed in our human dream,
Human dream, human dream;

Somewhere is here,
Is here, is here.

© David R. Durham

Old Photos

Old Photo’s
Bending to tie my shoes, seems a little
Harder this year, I sit, baggy trousered,
Caressing the old blue photo album,
Embossing slightly worn, occasional
Pages are a little loose now. Opened;
Love lost remembered, discovered
Between stuck-together pages, brushing
The grey stubble on my chin, grinning, my head,
Bow’d slightly, silently reminiscing.
Bairns now grown, girls now grans, adults long dead.

The dented kettle boils, its’ aged long
Blackened spout pouting wisps of warm mist.
“Come on, time for tea.” She used to call us,
In that everyday voice, that home-spun warm tone,
Voices from a childhood world we did not
Realise would end so soon. Done play’n, done work’n,
We noisily brought our mess in, our human stain,
Generation upon generation.
Skilled in hand, passionate in deep breath,
Long tribal memories not passed on,
No secret diaries or home-crafted poems,
Just a few edge-discoloured photos
Of familiar, half-familiar faces.

Ah now, which cup? Funny how tea seems to
Taste better in the old cracked one,
Stained brown patterns, worn timeless with age.
Lived in, doubted in and dreamed in.
The old kettle rattles to a grudging
Halt, satisfied. A homely job well done.
A satisfied human life well lived,
A few cracks here and there, well worn with age,
Lived in, loved in and dreamed in.

© David R. Durham