I am an island-man -
a man carved from rock -
a man frozen in ice.
For too long had I been cast adrift,
adrift on a vast sea of nothingness -
touching nothing
numbed to the feeling of everything
but for you, my dear little creature, my immortal beauty, I would have remained thus.
But you came to me in a storm -
Like crashing waves of warm current,
breaking down my defences, melting my heart of ice.
You took me to the shore of love,
washed my feet in your pleasant waters,
sunk my hands deep into your hot, golden sands.
You are the bridge tethering me to the world -
You are the sea of life,
the evening's red sky,
the orange, setting sun
Oh, goddess Sun, Sea and Sky, how I long to feel the world against my skin,
And the warmth of your kiss as the sun lowers its head and sinks into the sea on the horizon of this Island-man.

Trompe l'oeil

They say that, "The eyes can play tricks"'
And they're not kidding!
Try focusing your eyes,
see through all the bullshit
to the frighteningly, stark realities.
But be warned, if you succeed in this task
there will be a terrible price to pay,
it could be suicide, or it could be madness.
But a least you would have touched the unquestionable truth.
The truth that all the beauty of the world,
everything nature has to offer;
the snow-capped mountains glinting in the sun,
all the birds singing in the trees,
the first flower that blooms in Spring,
the mighty waterfalls, the endless oceans,
the stars at night,
the moon, and all the planets,
the very clouds in the sky,
are all a lie,
a lie,
a mere trick of the eye!

All that useless beauty
there only to cloud our eyes
keep us blind,
keep us from the truth
that this world,
our very lives
have little, or no meaning.
For at the end of our days
we leave here with no more,
no less than what we entered with -
for the sum of all our collected worldly experiences
count for nothing
when rigor-mortis sets in.
Do you have the nerve to ask,
"Then what's the point?"
Very few ever do,
and those who survive the truth
are placed, babbling, in little window-less rooms.
If, however, you chose to continue to live the lie
please spare a thought tonight,
for those who have beheld the truth,
as you close your curtains on the world.

The woman at the window

Once when I was young,
me and this little girl went singing and dancing down the street.
We saw this woman standing at her kitchen window,
although she gave us a little smile she looked unhappy and had tears in her eyes.
I wondered what it meant.

****

She felt calm now - more calm than she could ever remember feeling before
in all her long life, Standing there, at her kitchen window
looking out at the early spring evening's bolongese-red sky
through her deep blue eyes, softened by silent, salty tears.
A soft warm breeze blew gently through the trees which rustled quietly
"Ssshhh….ssshhh," she thought she heard them say.
She managed even to raise to quivering, little smile as she stood there
watching two children go past the window, singing and dancing, arm in arm
singing songs that she herself once sang in her youth.

A car went screeching by on the street below
and her state of calm was sent crashing in on itself
a tremor ran up and down her spine
and the heavy pan which she had held at her side slipped
from her grasp and landed on the hard floor with a solid thud.
As she turned, slowly from the window she began to shake uncontrollably
and the tears flowed with repentful haste
and her heart felt as though it had been gripped tightly by an ice-cold hand.
She gazed down at the tangled mess of spaghetti
swimming in the puddle of still gently steaming water
and at the scolded, bloodied head of her husband lying prostrate on the cold floor.

On bended knee, beside him she took his hand in hers
and looking into his brown, startled, dead eyes she tearfully whispered
"Oh, Joe…Joe, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…"
And there she sat feeling the heat slowly recede from her husbands body
as the refrigerator buzzed into life.