Not by Design
I hear the slosh in the tide
of your voice pushing
pushing for those things amazing
no person saint enough to offer fine.
How you beat your drum to defy
the march of the mass who stops thinking
lost in this complex mechanism we sing
efficiency, where everybody walks a fine line.
But now I know, am wiser, the price
to survive dragging the barest resources,
this one mass through "Home" resolved.
Yet I know and hold my head high
not by design, yet by opening my eyes
to how I can run into safe nights high.
In a Park
The desperate fingers of the tree
reach for the sky
and green stars fall
and twinkle too
in the light breeze.
So we reach for the sky
too and watch our stars
fall into place.
In the green stillness
the birds, the trees, the breeze
and we are not too old
to forget words can twist
and shape themselves
like clouds, one moment
a sheep, another
a ship, all
Spent some time in a park writing. In the (green) stillness one couldn't help feeling blessed and calm, all at 50. Say, is SG50 fast becoming a marketing gimmick of sorts, or is it just me?