 The daytime hours are balanced, equal to the night.
Dawn and dusk form bridges, between darkness and the light. Two realms exist in parity, two sides exactly, just the same. Past and future blended, all present, in life’s moment game. Half way between the solstices, not spring but autumn view. Where leaves begin to turn, from green to gold on cue. Rusted, oldie, mouldiness, decay comes to the nose. The sweetness of the meadow though, lifts mood of summer doze. A pause upon the turning wheel, a choice of happy sad. To enter mood of ecstasy, or agony, good or bad. For now we can just journey, opt for kingdom to be tread. Where one can dance with living, the past life or the dead. Stood upon the fulcrum, we’re centred, in control. Aware of our responsibility, of ego and of soul. Now it’s all the territory, that is known and understood. Where we can enter decadence, or purity if we should. Consequence laid bare, of actions, or non commit. Bygone mews and ensuing dreams, all held, with me they sit. To contemplate the either or, of memory and of lust. To step towards our destiny, come home to that of trust. Back upon the link we share, between zone and space and grid. We know how much to run amok, or keep upon our lid. It’s connection one and all, that we have come to crave. Attention's all that's needed, from now onward to the grave. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.
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 A thistle that looks up to no-one, nobody is his peer.
He stands tall, refined and proud, a warrior without fear. Pollinator for butterfly, magnet for honey bee. Carrying with him all the nectar, for me to be the best of me. Looking out across the skyline, between margin of sea and land. Gatekeeper to a higher realm, key-holder to elite band. A regal head of purple, instils confidence through and through. From here is ushered greatness, none more vibrant in his hue. Stood upon the slanted ridge, updrafts spiral high. Kestrels hover, buzzards soar, well beyond magpie. Raven comes to raptor fight, seagulls glide on by. Aerial combatants strive to be, masters of the sky. Of the flowers down below, supremacy is more assured. There is no match for this top gun, a status long endured. A maverick amongst his prickled tribe, of nettle and of gorse. His seeds scatter far and wide, of potent masculine force. No place there is for the defeated, the criticised or controlled. With this ally by your side, every maiden will be bowled. Virility oozes from this plant, sexuality here in spades. He is the master of his field, his legacy never fades. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  The shaman stands a warrior, bandana on his head.
Knowing just what’s needed, no words are to be said. His drum now does his talking, a beat that echoes voice. Hide stretched taut with sinew, red stag pelt of choice. Air quite thick and smudge filled, pungent from the sage. Gratitude placed in abundance, tobacco off the gauge. Ground is splashed with water, holy from the well. Sacred space is granted, healing awaits the bell. Body draped in blanket, turned to face the altar. Sprit guide and panther, strain upon the halter. Feathers from the condor quiver, soar round wounded being. Sifting life from death, bad energy gone a-fleeing. Persistent blocks and leakages, require needle and the thread. Plus deft touch of a surgeon, bringing addict off the med. Cock pheasant and rabbit paw, grace wand of shining gleam. The shake and shake of rattle, brings patient back from dream. Chief rises proud completed, hand gripped upon his staff. A crook of finest heritage, adorned with peacock laugh. His shield of sun and swallows, of pink and purple flowers. The essence that of which, just heighten all his powers. These skills of his fine tuned, to that of soul intention. All fuel to the fire of his, too many tools to mention. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  With you there is no hiding place, I have to sit full view.
Totally exposed, approachable, to the many, not the few. On Main Street, within pavement crack, in tarmac, next to kerb. Surrounded by the every day noise, busy-ness, chaotic blurb. No bushel here to keep me under, no shadow to disappear. Only full sun, bright and constant, plain visible and just clear. Witness to every speeding car, beacon to passer by. Stood as a signpost in the air, reaching for the sky. Screeching from the tree tops, of just who I really am. Standing tall so viewable, from elderly to the pram. Here I state my territory, piss up against the wall. Leave my scent on wooden fence, usher clarion call. Sirens whirl and engines roar, motorised deafening din. Throttle down, no breaking power, all to the maximum, not the min. Grinding out the daily tasks, front and centre all the way. No ducking, no diving, opting out, forever in the fray. Called upon to service, clock strikes time enough. Seconds out the bell has gone, to strip down to the buff. No place for shame or guilt there is, no falsehood to be won. Only to thyself be true, of shining bright and keeping shone. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  I peer into the distance, to catch a peek of thee.
Inquisitive and wondrous, of the discs of white I see. Yellow yokes of iris, stems and stalks abound. Churchyard and meadow strewn, memories lost and found. Looking back across my life, I reminisce upon your gems. Picture postcards of sentiment, of rivers Seine and Thames. For here where all the waters go, heading on down stream. The sparkly highlights of the falls, is where I catch my dreams. Those twinkles in the flow, is where I am at one. My purpose comes to view, when all is said and done. With your essence in my heart, my vision’s clearly seen. Of all events that make me, me, all I’ve ever been. Your insight goes beyond the veil, to another realm. Where ancestors exist, fallen ones, captains of the helm. Lined up they are with advice for me, to live each day my last. Do what makes me happiest, bring joy and have a blast. For one will never know, which day brings final curtain call. To a life led unfulfilled, hopelessness and certain fall. But if I look to thee, magnificent Ox-Eye Daisy. I can find the route for me, kick back and make life easy. In the sunlight and the shadow, you beckon me to come. The present and the afterlife, in harmony and in hum. Criss cross I do the threshold, step on step of stone. Jumping along an invisible thread, bright eyes to lead me home. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below. |
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