POETRY


The Sons of Aphrodite

The tragedy of Cyprus, the Diaspora of the seed,
A mass emigration of the pioneer sons, during modern times,
Who now excel, throughout the distant lands of the world,
New York, London, Melbourne, Johannesburg.
Perhaps the main focus points, of evolving Greek culture,
Successfully expressive, expansive modern day thinkers and traders,
Who contrast their paternal village, homeland agrarian, insular orthodox, closed minded relatives.

POETRY


Harry

Harry, what a scallywag, a pure and unadulterated hustler,
Never a moment, without looking for an edge, the opportunity to get ahead,
To charm and manipulate any given situation, all to be gently controlled and exploited.
Everybody is in the game, no exceptions, family, loved ones or friends,
All there, to serve the greater good of Harry.
Wasn’t a bad footballer, but never had a chance or the discipline,
To succeed or obtain any notable achievements, doomed to fail.
A likeable rascal, to be kept in his place, a born loser with a smile,
Was in a right state, the last time we met many years ago.
Will we meet again when I return, or is it too late
In the day of the hustler, to find him playing in the sun,
But like so many others before, has fallen by the wayside, lifeless in the gutter

POETRY - LOVE


Wake Up Call

The afternoon the pendulum rose quartz broke, I knew that it was all finally over,
The symbolic token of our love and friendship, had leapt smashing into two.
Initially sorrowing my heart, but slowly the realization dawned, that it was time now
To finally break off all contact and move on, to the next stage and chapter in my life.
That everything possibly positive, had been achieved by our association,
For any future dalliance would only perpetuate and deepen negative vibrational emotions,
Germinating precipitous blockages, creating future obstacles on our respective journeys.

POETRY - PHILOSOPHY


Bhakti Begging

Is it really true, that bhakti begging is the essence of India,
It certainly seems so most of the time, walking the city streets,
Sitting outside a restaurant, on the beach for a swim or seeking peace,
With the constant perennial tugging of the arm for food, but really money.
They say that even members of the government, show the same humble begging posture,
Deference to the World Bank, UN, NCO’s and the like.
Where eighty per cent of all monies received, evaporates without trace,
To the detriment of the common people, in their plight and struggle for basic survival.
Bhakti is what India has in essence, offered to the world for it’s salvation,
But it seems it’s tarnished expression, is the latter day medium for it’s own survival,
Yet paradoxically, the obstacle for it’s evolution and advancement in the modern world.

POETRY - SPIRITUAL


Celtic Yin Aroma

Celtic Yin fragrance, permeating my life,
Latent spiritual development, maternal descendant unknown.
Whose avenue I inadvertently adopted, finding resonance with my propensities,
The root I must soon discover, in memory of my dear mother, whose mother
I did not meet, but whose shadow and presence heightens daily.
Being gradually more perceived, in the adoption of my chosen profession,
The common role and family karma now revealed,
Linking us from where, I do not know.
The circle will then be complete, squared, balanced and precipitating harmony.

POETRY - LOVE


While the Iron is Hot

The moment has passed, I have missed my chance,
An opportunity that I had wished for and dreamed of for ages, has now gone.
To remain cool, a restrictive instinct to resist expressing emotion publicly,
Has yet again lost the moment, whose significance I never seem to realize,
Until it is too late, and the enticing warm smiles become exasperated dismissals.
Why does this happen, is it karmic, in that there is a retrospective lesson to learn.
Or is it a saving safety mechanism, orchestrated from myself above
And this shield is guiding me to love, as we blindly search in the dark.
Maybe the cause is pain or the lack of love and I recoil from this emotion I cannot grasp
For sure, it is becoming as strange to myself, as I suspect it has been for sometime to others.
But I suppose, it must again be the ethereal guiding hand, that I wield,
As nothing is coincidence or without significance, testing patience and faith.

POETRY - PHILOSOPHY


Teens

Young, hollow and numb, instinctively searching for a cause,
The age of tactless impressionism, noise, excitement and the norm.
Even in adversity, the familiar is reassuring and warm, easy to assess,
Rudderless exuberance, without experience or knowledge,
Moving in misty, ever decreasing circles, no bearings or charts.
A Catch 22 conundrum of headless passion, dictating the pace of change,
Or lack of it, depending on our actions or reactions to conflict and pressure.