Tag Archives: Poetry

Grandmother’s Clock

clock 003.

Mantel Clock tick tocks

chiming as it counts the hours

by the warm coal fire

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by the warm coal fire

I watch pictures in the flames

coloured red and black

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coloured red and black

coal and coke covered with slack

childhood time gone by

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childhood time gone by

remembering endless hours

mark time by the clock

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Mark time by the clock

lifetimes measured in minutes

where did the years go?

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Mary asks us to write about treasured things.  This is the clock that sat on the mantelpiece (a shelf above the fire) in my Grandmother’s house.

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Our Star

Claudia's Star.

Every man and woman is a star

sparkling cosmic sparks swarming

in the energy from ain soph aur

bringing the breath of life

to wisdom and understanding.

God’s dream unfolds in Daath

containing in consciousness

experiences of incarnation

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Teetering on the abyss

the spiritual self discarnate

deliberates perfection,

contemplates compassion,

in the condemned cell

from which tiny window

shines infinite light

absorbing evolution.

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Amazing Artwork by Claudia Schoenfeld with thanks.

The Snake Charmer

snake-charmer.

Vidni lifts the lid of the basket

shifts the soft coloured cloth comforting the snake in sleep.

The serpent stirs, rising to the sound and sway of the pungi.

Rhythm of mesmerism penetrates the realms of darkness.

A demonic consciousness demands sacrifice.

The serpent morphs into a basilisk as it waits for the prey.

The notes on the pungi plunge lower, vibrating in the base.

A young boy skips by full of life, suddenly he falls, lifeless.

Is he dead?

People gather round.

A medic gives help

Presently there is life again in the boy’s body.

But his eyes are reptilian.

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A terrible tale for dVerse’ ‘Story’ Poem

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Source of image unknown

Malkuth

Alex_Grey_Gaia

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Bjön Bruberg at dVerse invites us to write about trees.

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The tree of plenty

life force through Gaia’s heartstrings

precious breath of life.

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Earth’s natural wealth

its beauty cleansed and watered

elements of life

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Money energy

Brings dark moon of destruction

material greed

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Roots of pollution

entangle the tree of life

seeding destruction

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Image GAIA from ‘Sacred Mirrors’  The Visionary art of Alex Grey.

Alex writes:

“The day after our daughter, Zena, was born I had a vision of Gaia, the World Soul.  Gaia was the tree of life or web of life with her root in the subatomic, atomic, molecular, and cellular levels of matter reaching upward through the oceans, stone, soil, grass, forests, mountains, lakes, rivers, air and atmosphere to nurture all plants and creatures.  A natural cycle of birth, sustenance and death was woven into the tapestry of Nature.  Gaia continuously gave birth to life through the love energy in her heart.  The future generations of humanity were symbolised by a human  mother nursing in Gaia’s cave.

Gaia’s body was being ravaged and destroyed by human man, reflecting the present crisis in the environment.  A diseased and demonic phallus had erected structures all over the earth to suck dry Gaia’s milk and turn it into power and money.  The wasteland of a disposable culture was piled high and was seeping into the mircrogenetic pool causing diseases and defects in the Great Chain of Line.

Emerging also from that microgenetic level – but on the side of Nature – was an evolutionary alarm represented by a large ‘seeing’ hand which catalysed the collective will of the people, enabling them to see, with eyes of unobstructed vision, the actions necessary to stop the destruction of the world soul.

Out the Window

Window 002

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Sunshine on bare bones of Jacaranda

stark from its winter cut.

Blackbirds hop and peck at the earth,

chattering and exploring round.

Bird on a wire, listening, sniffing the air

waiting for a message from below ground

that will fill the garden with the sound

of birdsong and nest building.

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For dVerse

Picture from my study window.

New York at Night in Black and White

new york at night vivienne gucwa

Dead of night and enough rain to moisten the cobbles

beautiful brown stone houses we walk between

dreaming of a life where we can remain unseen

away from the gossip columns of the press

where we can disappear into the fifties

when we had power and anonymity in the city

but we know the change is coming

when we will live in our tower block

gated and guarded with views of central park.

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Written for The Mag

New York at Night, Vivienne Gucwa