.

from the ground
the ceiling looks so much wider
from the ground
its cracks seem much finer

the paint peels -
minute flags, off-white surrender;
the paint peals -
egg shells of heavy footed plunder...

revelation fall free
on this soul that has been bound
revelation fall free,
release this pretender from the ground

.

a pair of eyes
hopeful
anticipative
distraught
hysterical
red.

a wandering heart
a clustered mind
an agitated being
blue.

a mutual friend
confused, as me
distant, as the sun
constant, as life
necessary, as oxygen
yellow.

an angel
pure, as water
lighter than air
pretty, like her
white.

a future
-a muddled mess
a simple complication
uncertain, as death
hopeful, as eyes.
as a pair of eyes.
vague, and unclear
black.

whilst walking down some
street one day

a fellow came up to me -- began
a conversation

of many things we spoke
of life in general --
and life in specific --
he looked at me after a time
with
an odd view askance

I was crazy -- he told me
I was driving him crazy -- he said

I winked one wink
and rejoined, "I needn't drive you
crazy, my good sir, you're
within walking distance
of that particular destination."

I walked on down the road.

"WINTER'S TOUCH"
Margaret Ann Waddicor 6th November 2010.

Not snow 
but frost with wings 
of glittering silver 
stir the grasses, roots, 
and dying leaves with white, 
in night's lamp-lit glow; 
they sparkle, diamonds,
rich beyond compare, 
their stiffened forms
made sculptures 
by the air, 

That vain bone is longer'n
both your arms,
worse'n Kathy Lee
and her put on charms.

Pretentiously caring,
with your hair slicked back,
but that magazine smile
highlights empathy's lack.

Those give and take feelings,
you think to display,
they're not fooling anybody
... not today.

Hint of beginnings of oppressive, dry heat
pushed on easterlies
stirring the winter icy still
to sluggishly resist
onslaughts of snugness against its chill.

Threatening the warmth with cooling water
rushing from the west to support the cold
woolly black blankets of power
whipping the air below to rattle leaves
into a frenzy that sounds a lot like laughter.

In flickers of a TV screen
a thousand tales speed by,
bereft of all imagination,
without the briefest hesitation,
except where sponsors scream
about the useless filth they ply.

Through this window of despair,
a thousand souls all live and die,
each second of each life flayed open,
butterflied between each slogan
so carefully designed to snare
the careless sweep of each mind's eye.

He was just here
with those hazel eyes
drawing me into a place
love defined

Maybe I was on a dark road
at the time
and he gave me
some light and protection
against loneliness and the impact
of destiny

He understood me for who and what I am
and much more than passion can find
a way to bind -
I was trapped by his humanity...

7 November, '10

.

Just beyond the end of autumn
I hear the winter's call
and he arrives to slay the leaves
which, stubborn, clung through fall.

The land once green and full of life
has now grown cold and sere
and harvest's colors once so rife
no longer are seen here.

As white and silver cloak descends
to cover silent frozen land
air turns cold as all warmth ends
and quietens all at hand.

Child on horseback
Won’t you come for me?
Mother by morning
Won’t you cry for me?
Cause I am so tired of being strong
And I am so sick of being wrong
That I will refuse to breath

Sun on my shoulders
Won’t you burn me?
Moon calm the violent seas
Won’t you drown me?
Cause I am so tired of being afraid
And I am so sick of riding the waves
So I will refuse to speak