Commonword Blogs

A familiar pattern embraces me once more.
The clatter of shoes on a concrete universe,
The frustration in the race to be first plain to see.
As the harassed hordes make their way to daily toil.

You don't know me.

Our paths collide in the summer sizzle,
Brains full of caffeine and subservience to The Man.
I notice your incredulous stare, crumpled mouth,
Looking as though you wish to see right through me.

You will never understand the real me.

My smile is an enigma to you,
The joy is very real, despite how it appears,
I've been a poet of eloquence for the last decade,

You don't know me.
Our paths collide in the July sizzle,
In complete silence.
The only thing of note
Is a smile,
My trademark Mona Lisa smile.

I've seen my name in print and lights,
Lost precious ones along the way,
Battled through childhood traumas
Of bullies and bad health,
To emerge eternally victorious,
With quiet grace and dignity.

Overcame addictions to alcohol and wild livin',
Not apparent in the way I amble by.
Met some real celebrities, not the ones in Heat,
Got up on stage regularly to state my case,
Fought for the vulnerable who struggle.

Serenity comes a-callin,
His spirit relaxed,
Eyes light, open with ease
In the wake of past fatigue.

He rises to begin his day,
As usual, toast and coffee
His order of the moment.

Head lighter than yesterday,
Meds kickin' in,
The torpor of recent days
Displaced, alert at last.

Recovery has begun.

Walking nonchalantly
In the January bite,
Down to the river,
Stagnant waters
Allow time for reflection.

Sitting on the bank,
Drinking hot coffee,
Easing into recuperation once more.

Body temperature rising,
Hands relaxing around the cup.

China blue irises,
Once filled with innocence,
Lacking vibrance, isolated and lost.

Recalling his father's
Arthritic hand,
Skin like crumpled paper,
Meandering towards him.

He was 6,
Even 25 years on,
Memories lingered stubbornly.

His father assured him
No one would find out.

The nights were the worst.

Desperate to hear
The cries of others, revisiting
The room he slept in
Back in 1984.

It still hadn't changed.

Desperation
Saturated the air.
Tear-stained face,
Blank and cold.

His father died years ago,
Yet he still felt his presence.

Hard, cold, unrelenting.
The stare of a blank soul.
Someone of no consequence,
Always dismissive of others.

She feeds off their ambitions
Yet destroys them.
Horror and disgust
Her only friends.

Empty and evil,
Eerie and lifeless.
Her voice caustic,
Her sight shortened.

What is it that pains her?
She never opens up,
Never lets anyone get close.
A smile left her once
Effervescent face.

It hasn't been seen since.

(c) NZ 2009.

Had too many ciders tonight
My head's reeling
Straining to hear the sound
Of Chris's beats
Spinning effortlessly on the
Pristine turntables before him.

My feet start to move
In fast, fluid fashion
To the electric thumping
Of "Insomnia",
Faithless' finest hour.

It's 2am,
Any second now
It'll be chucking-out time.
I wait in anticipatory dread
For last orders to be called.

Did my first performance
At The Green Room
For about 18 months
Amidst the glory of
Jazz, hip-hop and soul melodies.

It's as if I've never been away.
"A Unique Celebration"

Colours abound
Thoughts amble
Through a wild haze
Of uncertainty.

I'm stiff
Yet fluid
In movement
As my instability
Begins to surface.

Garbled conversations
Are all I make
On subjects
That make no sense.

It's been a wild night
Where I stagger
Home to face up
To what I've experienced.

I've been dancing
To a different sound
To anything
I've known before.

My head slowly begins
To clear.
This is where fantasy
And reality
Clash as my memory
Returns.

It will take
Several hours however
For me to begin
Making complete sense again.

My car's just died.
As it splutters to a halt,
I seize the chance to explore.

I emerge, the heat
Engulfing me as I open the door.
My tanned face a dark brown
As it cakes in the summer sun.

Lighting a cigarette,
I can feel the white shirt I'm wearing
Glued to my back.

I reach for my comb, running it
Frantically through my locks.
I advance further, cigarette
Dangling from mouth.

I remembered my water bottle,
Recently filled,
Hung around my neck.

I walk nonchalantly through
The barren landscape,
Looking back at the car,
The driver's door wide open.

My face is crumpled,
The depth of the lines
Clear to witness.
I'm only 35, but feel 75.
My forehead buckles
Under the strain of repression.

My story?

I saw loved ones taken violently away,
I heard multitudes of screams,
Our land darkened by the poison
Of conflict and retribution.

The nightmares don't stop.
I wake mid-tempest with
Chills and cold sweats.

The vibrant era
I was once part of
Now vanishes with
Distant cries of kindred spirits
Slipping away.

I can hear my own screams,
As I'm confined to the
Fringes of a life totally unfulfilled.

Walking is a forgotten pastime.
The universe becomes ever faster
In its journey,
The need for serenity
And considered contemplation
Totally overlooked.

Where has all the silence gone?
I've no idea.

I don't see the need for all that commotion.
Why are all in such a hurry?

The quiet path is the one for me.
It may have been a while
Since I last experienced it
But I long for peace once more.

Here, I always find it.
These hills are like home to me,
Their warmth exudes from them
As I walk past.

I revel in the familiar sound
Of rustling leaves,