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SKORVE IS MY ANCHOR

"SKORVE IS MY ANCHOR"
Margaret Ann Waddicor 17th October 2010.

Skorve is my anchor 
where my house caught in the web 
of chequered fields, 
resides.

Its hulk a shoulder to lean on
when feeling grey, 
its ever changing seasons painted,
from the summit to the dale,
the thousand little streams 
that make their misty veils
after the heavy rains;
where rainbows play across the deep,
and forests weep their tears, 
through winters many storms.

being born (a poem for the obdurate)

being born (a poem for the obdurate)

kill what you don't understand
annihilate what you cannot control
deplete your resources
murder even the water,
trees, and rocks
you would kill the stars if you could
but reach them
you act like your heart was torn out
as a child

now you cannot steal enough
kill enough --
or cause enough pain
to fill the void where your
heart once was

lay down your arms for the rest
of us
and forego your vengeance for
being born.

I Learned This Day..(That I Need U More Each Day)

it’s been roasting inside my flat,
so i took a stand-by in the roof top…
as i stand there to catch the night breeze
realized that something to me was missing…

it’s been a puzzle for couples of weeks
i see it’s newborn yet seems so fixed,
this can’t be love…it just need some space,
but i’m totally guilty of the sweetest case

she’s in my dreams whenever i go to sleep
maybe destiny is really making a powertrip,
but from this calling who could ever escape?
better grab some potato chips and my lemon drink..

Rejuvination

.

lilac petals drop daintily

a swoosh of night air and fragrance
pushes the poplars to samba
swishing and swaying seductively
bouncing droplets of rain on
xylophonic roof tiles
beckoning me to join
this unnamed celebration

I escape my lazy chair ways on
loosey-goose legs
(usually stiff as boardroom banter)
and I feel

....TALL!

The Morrigan

I met her once,
in a battered place
where Irish bombs blew
holes into an English city,
broken bodies writhing
as I looked down at the splinters
of a shattered friend
stuck deep into my shins.

That Christmas

We kids were all prompt to arrive at the door
for we knew we shouldn’t turn our backs on
Christmas roast at dinner time -
it can’t be left long after out of the oven
for the Aussie bush blowie is nasty
and even with windows and doors fly-wired
doubled over and nailed every inch
the buggers still get inside
and if they get to your dinner before you
well, the sight would make a saint cry
wriggly maggots dropped to feast
on what was going to be our festive meat.
Too much information do I hear you implore??

Killer's Kiss

Steaming jungle darkly wrapped
closing in, keeps him trapped
Sounds of life, and of death
he holds his screaming, nervous breath

Life crawls by, touching him
he holds his bowels, filled to brim
Eyes strain to see through blinding gloom
Trying to guess; where comes his doom

Blacker blackness slides closer still
waiting for the chance to kill
Senses tuned to ultimate
this is as good as it gets

Field of Stone

Field of Stone

I crossed the hills and valleys
And prairies all alone
I forded mountain streams
And found a field of stone

I toiled until my hands bled
And blood mixed in the ground
Baptized in my sweat and blood
Happiness was found

I built a home from all the rocks
And raised a family there
I plowed the fields and grew the crops
In soil so loose and spare

'I watched my children move away
To greener fields and goals
We stayed on; just my wife and I
at the hearthfire of our souls

Open House Madness

Open House Madness

Welcome!
Come, step into my dream
I’m sure you will find
Things are as not as they seem

Your host is in the kitchen
He has become the main course
The places that are dined on
Are his pleasures source

What’s going on over there
How many people
Can fit in one chair
Arms, legs assorted body parts
Hard to tell
Where one ends
And one should start

Baby kisses
Chills from neck to spine
Linger, linger
Please, take your time

Beautiful Spirit

You inspired from the start,
cradled me in the wealth of your knowledge.
Nursed this fledgling through it's poetic birth

A beautiful spirit that burns and sparks,
a vessel for all that is dark and exquisite,
and righteous.

Now you have been laid
and it is I who must support you.
Give you hope, enouragenent

I will ease your burden.
Erase your suffering,
allow you to be strong..

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