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Fallen

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poetry blog

Fallen
O’ beautiful death release me,
From winters so long and so cold.

My skeleton lies naked and fragile.

O’ beautiful decay reinvent me,
So I may live again, bright and bold.

My flesh is a feast soft and vulnerable.

O’ beautiful spirit’s new adventure,
In flowing growth born from the old.

My body arises in blossoming spring time.

© David R. Durham
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Thunder

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Thunder
Riot and footfall dance to that beat,
Earth’s stage set where hearts can meet.

Ancestral lands invoke your dream-time chant,
Rise and fall ’till your breath is scant.

In your belly and your thighs rips a youthful tide,
Rhythms pick up and your stride’s so wide.

Words too frail fade away forgotten and spent,
Guttural voices rise, soul-body sent.

Day becomes night all heaven’s stars are out,
As above so below, shared with mighty shout.

© David R. Durham
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Sun Beams

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poetry

Sun Beams
On crest of waves we are dancing,
Now flickering a’tween tree’s leaves,
Joy in the rousing springtime, smiles,
In the heart warming summertimes.

© David R. Durham
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Tears

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poetry

And The Tears, They Flow.
Beauty’s kiss, her joy-filled embrace,
Moonlight silvered raven hair,
Beauty’s reckless, carefree poise,
She yields under heaven’s spell;
And the tears, they flow.

Cold truth scavenges childhood memories,
Scorching time’s forward march,
Cold truth scrambles delicate feelings,
She humbles dog-eared certainty;
And the tears, they flow.

Grace revealed in her razor sharp brightness,
Her unblinking gaze pierces soul’s delight,
Grace inviting, teasing and alluring,
She whispers sweet promises of eternal rest;
And the tears, they flow.

© David R. Durham
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Reminders

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poetry

Reminders
Sea rolling, sweeping, flowing, bubbling onto a pebbled beach;
You remind me of my forgotten journeys.

Penetrating light moving down a corridor of brick archways;
You remind me of a forgotten life-style.

Black and white images of faces in a winter’s landscape;
You remind me of long lost loves.

The felt sense of my spinal column in alignment;
You remind me of a forgotten harmony.

My boundaries melt away and all thoughts stops;
You remind me of my forgotten home.

My awakened heart flows and flows;
You remind me that an awakened heart never closes.

© David R. Durham
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Holy Words

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SacredValley

Holy Words
When sublime words fell from the sky, free to
Those who would listen, a few looked at
Each other in wonder, some felt a tingling
Fear trickle down their stooped spines, many more,
Intoxicated by their new human
Sensations, never heard anything at all.

Pitter patter as rain, holy words fall from
The sky, crafted in each listener’s mind,
Woven into new tales of joyful dance,
So close to us, near as our beating heart,
In soulful invocations; in prayers;
And most of all in our loves and laughter.

Faith binds us in a linen cloth, white, plain,
Contoured round our flowing body, shaping
Our spaceless reflective mind. Faltering
Words are slowly whispered in hoarse breath,
Lured, we wriggle free of holy embrace,
Tempted again into sinful secrets;
A conjurer’s trick of deceit and lies.

© David R. Durham
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Gift Wrapped

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Gift Wrapped
What is this fate which breaks the will of men?
That insidious grim stealer of magic and dreams,
Unyielding face with gritty voice, black cloak.

What caricatures of men live a lie?
That all can survive, and some may live large,
In deep worn trances, rich in rhythmic chants.

What concerns for other’s lives touch men’s souls?
That divine breath which transcends mortality,
From long forgotten ancient memories.

What is this life that ripples in men’s hearts?
That bridges knowing, love and restless grief,
Gift wrapped in a weave of human thread.

© David R. Durham
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Endless Play

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Endless Play
Caught in the moment,
Caught on the camera.

We love when we dance,
We smile when we play,
At times we’re feeling down,
Then we’re feeling up again,
So life goes around in an endless play.

Ambushed in the shopping mall,
Ambushed at a party.

We smile when we dance,
We love when we play,
At times we’re feeling up again,
Then we’re feeling down,
So life goes around in an endless play.

Work in the day time,
Pleasure in the night time.

We love when we dance,
We smile when we play,
At times we’re feeling down,
Then we’re feeling up again,
So life goes around in an endless play.

All along our road are the misread sign posts,
All along our path are the potholes so grey.

We smile when we dance,
We love when we play,
At times we’re feeling up again,
Then we’re feeling down,
So life goes around in an endless play.

© David R. Durham
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Old Horses

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poetry

Old Horses
The stable door ajar, straw bedded down,
The old horse left a brief note saying;
“Gone t’d pub old chap, back before you know”.

Tess, our dependable collie sheep dog,
Now lounging in her sun warmed corner,
She dreamed eons and eons, were rolling by.

Big hooves clatter across the outside yard,
Cats scatter, handy hidden holes, safe,
And dark, away from hard trampling beasts and men.

Time drawn in on the fertile breath of life,
Days softly drip with sensual promises,
Grace brings good fortune to fair tilled land.

© David R. Durham
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Markets

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poems on the internet

Markets
Down in the market where life runs free,
Where daily stories are shared,
And there is lots of stuff to see.

Exotic looking fruits to smell and to try,
Stacked high on rough work-man’s tables,
Laid out under a clear blue mountain sky.

Men with packed trolleys weave and bob,
Their job not done ‘tll all are sold,
Locals mingle with tourists, quite a mob.

Dogs bark, kids lark and jokes are told,
All humanity is here in shared pursuits,
Drink your beer while its still cold.

© David R. Durham
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Fireworks

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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
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JabberJabber

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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
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Attachments

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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
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Wheat Fields

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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
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Labels

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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
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The Angry Men

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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
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The Offering

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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
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Echoes

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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
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Old Photos

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poetry

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
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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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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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