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Ancestral Voices

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poetry, spirit

Ancestral Voices
This living tradition,
Contains no mystery,
No secrets, nothing hidden,
All is as it is.

As we dance in morning mist,
Songs of our ancestors weave,
Our sacred unfolding path,
Breath of life, living gods.

For our poor limited minds,
Dreams challenge and remind us,
To tread with care,
To live with respect.

Our poor, poor minds,
Lost in a sorcerer’s spell,
Desire, desire, desire,
A mantra of death and slavery.

Sing, sing your way back home,
Chant your ancestral songs,
Leave the spell of this labyrinth,
All is sacred, your path,
Tribal life, all life.

Remember, remember, wake up!

© David R. Durham, All Rights Reserved.

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Ghosts

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SpringBlooms_WM

Ghosts
Ghost from the past,
Play and persuade me,
With histories so devious and bad.

Ghost in the machine,
Mystify and manipulate me,
With stories of us and of them.

Ghost of the future,
Flirt and fascinate me,
With fantasies of pleasure and joy.

© David R. Durham

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Ancient Prayers

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Old Church WM

Ancient Prayers
Pungent incense adorns austere vestments,
Aching knees, silent witnesses, testify,
Propitiate holy separation’s torments.

Dust hovers, swirls, dances in sunlit shafts,
Children yawn, babies doze, angel’s smiles,
Pungent incense adorns austere vestments.

Liturgy, elegant life giving river,
Evaporating desires, cleanse souls,
Propitiate holy separation’s torments.

Sacred rite, gifted ancient tradition,
Well loved, humbly tended continuances,
Pungent incense adorns austere vestments.

Compassionate soft voices, mellowed,
By agéd wisdom, prayerful, praised,
Propitiate holy separation’s torments.

Hands lie restless on patient lap, neither,
Content nor uncontent, folded, naked,
Pungent incense adorns austere vestments,
Propitiate holy separation’s torments.

© David R. Durham

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Eden

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CW_RC_WM

Garden Of Eden
Casually draped emotions, barely felt,
Shimmer and ripple with each casual glance,
Faultless ways, cultured mind’s illusion,
Create false regrets, zoo sanctioned chiding.

Sacred mourning over a fallen people,
No going back, the curved archway should have read,
Once picked, fruit starts to rot, no going back,
Joyous lament, sensuous piety, righteous crime.

What bitter playground for swirling dust bowls,
Dancing o’er civilised man’s fields,
Lost, drowned in frost bitten modernity,
Broken skyline, poisoned dreams, black water.

© David R. Durham
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Dream Time

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poetry blog

Dream Time
Softly chanted incantations in candle lit darkness,
Your compassionate gaze fills our hearts,
Time ticks another round, scribbling another score,
Fond memories arise of love songs we’ve lived,
Whilst the dogs of unsung songs bay our hearts.

Sweet incense swirls, upward and fleeting,
What others’ pleasing stories have our lives told,
What dreams fell by the wayside, too frail to survive,
Paths we take, were led to, followed dutifully,
Innocent anecdotes of mortal games.

Our candles burn slowly down and down,
Unfolding distortions of dream-time myths,
Your timeless wisdom calls us home,
Are we the light in the darkness,
The eternal in the fleeting.

© David R. Durham
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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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PeruDance2_WM

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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BW_Angel_WM

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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Model_FA_WM

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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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
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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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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
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Wheat Fields

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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
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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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