Psimon

Yearning *********** I gaze longingly at the images. Just pixels on the page but they mean a lot to me. Colour or greyscale, it doesn't matter. Should I be doing this? It may hurt those I love if they knew. But these images are mine. I wanted them and I have them, so here they'll stay. I want it so much. I want to be inside the image. To experience what I can only look upon and long for now - that would be bliss. I have a yearning, a consuming desire. Will I achieve it? I hope so. It breaks my heart to think not. I will wait for now. Bide my time. One day. Yes, one day I'll journey there. © Psimon 15 January 2004

Push on through **************** This veneer, this cold and inanimate mask, this castle wall, this barrier of glass and steel. This falsehood, this facsimile, pale reflection in a limpid pool, there and yet not. The shadow of the real lies beneath, behind, within. It is seen in the corner of your eye, yet when you turn it is gone. A ghost in the twilight hours. Push through this veil and take what you find. Clasp me to your bosom with care, for if you hold too tightly I will surely slip from your desperate grasp. Yes, show love and I will remain for perhaps another season. But all must pass, real or false, the desired and rejected alike. The season turns and I am gone again. Was I ever truly with you? Push on through. © Psimon 15 January 2004

We stand alone together (Villanelle) - A personal tribute to the men of 101st Airborne, 506th PIR, Easy Company. ************************* We were alone in unity. Though cold and battle-worn, I stood with you and you with me. Through fog and sleet I could not see though heard the cries of men now torn. We were alone in unity, yet pressed to earth so desperately lest we join those for whom we mourned. I stood with you and you with me. My heart was numb as most would be had they but seen the bloody dawn. We were alone in unity, and held to thoughts that set us free and when they ceased their deadly storm I stood with you and you with me. For we had held the line, yes we the battered bastards, battle-worn. We were alone in unity, I stood with you and you with me. © Psimon 28 January 2004

Unbelievable! How dare you have a birthday on a day that I forget!! I unreservedly apologise for my reticent attitude and for the fact that I was on holiday at the time... and was being kidnapped by pirates , chased by fire-breathing dragons , and then found our house had been invaded by zombies and vampires . Can you believe that?! Yes, it does sound incredible but there you have it... Anyway, here's a flower to say a belated Happy Birthday Hugs and lots of Me

To all who know me and those that don't but wish they did May this season hold for you all a sense of wonder; a sense of joy; a sense of hope renewed. Though we struggle through the days that have been given us this past year, the trials are undeniably worth the effort, for it is in the fire that our purity is tested. Though we have laughed with those around us - and, if truth be told, at times at the expense of another - our humour may bring a smile to those who thought they would never smile again. Though our shoulders are weary from the burdens we have borne, the ones we have carried are doubtless grateful for our strength and may one day carry us. At times throughout this year, the ones who have hurt us most have been the very ones we love the most. Be that as it may, our love is unconditional, always ready to forgive. We have laughed, we have cried, we have screamed in rage, and we have stood is silence. We have loved, we have fought, we have made up and loved again. We have worked, we have rested, and we have played. We have been tested, we have been weighed, and we have been measured. We have found to be human. Capable of a full range of emotions, experiences, thoughts and desires. We are indeed all 'fearfully and wonderfully made'. I count it a privilege to have 'net' you and shared these days, these words with you. Have a safe and joyous Christmas (regardless of your faith) and may 2004 be another year we can look back on and say "Yes, we have lived" Seasonal hugs to all

Congrats Vlad!

Taking one last sip of his cooling cider he rose and followed Dove from the tavern, having observed the delivery. As messenger boys went this Bob was quite the artiste, reminding him very much of a previous acquaintance. He smiled. Memories had their own way of surfacing when one least expected. He was reasonably confident that Dove would not mind having another shadow for a while, however he maintained a respectful distance. One could just never tell in these troubled times. He could sense her mood change - a tensing of muscles, an anxious glance about her - nerves. Not that he could blame her. These were dangerous times. This was dangerous company to keep. He thought of the other one and his pale heart skipped a beat. She could look after herself. If too much had changed and she could not... well then, he would be there, just as he had promised long ago. Bah, he cursed silently, there is no point to this wistful thinking. Focus and let Fate do her worst, then react.... only then.

He watched and he waited - unseen in the shadows, invisible in the light - watching the approach to Tel Reth, waiting for the others to arrive. He allowed his mind to wander, in a very real sense, taking in his surroundings, processing the information, cataloguing every nuance of nature that enveloped him, flowed around him, over and through him. It was so similar to the days of long ago, heady days when he had set out on the road that fate had lain before him, that the corners of his mouth twitched. Had he been centuries younger, they might almost have moved upwards in a wry smile, but he was not, and so they stayed precisely where they were. However, one eyebrow did break rank, springing skyward at the thoughts of his misspent youth, before realising the error of its ways and settling back to its former position. Nothing to do but wait. And watch.

The cold stone walls seemed to close in on Ryl. The darkness was nothing to him. He could see in the dark as clearly as if he were standing in a field of knee-high grass with not a cloud in the sky to trouble him. No, the darkness was not the problem. It was the cell. His Faeling heart threatened to trample its Talimar brother in its desperation to leave his chest. Confinement he could take in measure, but this was altogether different. These cold stones whispered his impending doom. They spoke his name with the intimacy of the grave. ‘Soon - very soon. It is coming. Can you hear the footfalls of your executioner? Can you hear his axe glide over the sharpening stone? It is coming soon...’ This waiting threatened to drive him mad. 'Just kill me and be done with you!' he cried. Within himself, Ryl sensed only three days and two nights had passed, and yet it seemed like an eternity. Then, quite suddenly, he slept. ***** He could barely open his eyes. Perhaps I am still dreaming, he thought, or perhaps I am already dead. The light blinded him. Fresh air, a hint of grass and dank vegetation on a cooling breeze, caressed his face. He rolled onto his stomach, expecting the chains to pull him up short, biting into his flesh at wrist and ankle, but there were no chains and his face pressed into the dew-glittered grass. He forced himself to breathe slowly. Do not panic he warned himself as the breeze teased his back. He raised himself a few inches and opened his eyes. It was all real - the grass, the leaves, the breeze. He was not dead. He raised his head a little more - narrowed eyes against the glare of the day revealed a brush covered rise to his left and sparse trees in all other directions. He dared to move, testing limbs that his mind told him were fine. How could he possibly believe his mind? He had been imprisoned, awaiting execution, and now here he was lying in a clearing, at the bottom of what appeared to be a dry stream bed. His change of circumstance raised a good many questions. He sat up slowly, still too unsure to get swept away with thoughts of freedom. Nothing broken, no cuts, no bleeding. Good. He stood up, and came close to falling straight down again. He was light headed. I suppose that is what prison rations will do for you, he mused, bitterly making an oath never to be in the position of having to eat such food again. Turning slowly to survey his surroundings, he realised he had not been lying in a dry stream bed at all. He had been lying in a roadside ditch. The road disappeared between rust-leaved trees several yards in each direction with no sign of fresh tracks. Not a road well travelled, he shrugged, tearing the arm of his shirt loose. These rags won't last me a day. Draped in ill-fitting prison-issue rags, with no food, water or weapon - if he were a lesser man, he might have begun to worry. As he sat pondering, he heard the unmistakable squeak and groan of a wagon approaching. He cast his mind out to the wagon, listening for snippets of loose thought. A simple minded farmer carting his goods to market - that would do as well as anything else he was likely to meet on this road. Ryl stood and strode into the middle of the forest road. Raising a hand, he called, 'Greetings, friend!' The wagon was pulled up sharply. The ragged old horse, not being used to such wild movements, struggled to stay upright. It rolled its eyes and snorted in agitation, swinging its gaunt face to glare at the farmer. 'Sorry, 'orse. Only it weren't my fault now, were it?’ the old man complained to his travelling companion. 'It were his fault, I mean, your fault there, feller. You've no business jumping about on roads scaring my old 'orse and me. No business at all'. His startled expression clouded to righteous indignation and Ryl felt the full fury of the farmers glare. 'Be that as it may, good sir, you will kindly get down from your wagon and give me your clothes and some of your wares. In return I shall give you these fine clothes I wear now. Now you must admit that is a more than fair exchange'. 'I'll admit no such thing. That isn't a fair deal at all. Why, its as near as like to thieving, I'll say it as clear as the day around us. Thieving. And I'll have no such thing done on me and mine, you hear? I'll run you off. Run you off, I will'. The farmer stood shakily in the wagon, raising his travelling staff and his voice, 'Just you step closer and see if I don't'. 'Now, now, old timer. There's no need for shouting and stick waving. No need at all'. Ryl concentrated a little harder, moved past the old man's anger, and planted the seed of a reasonable notion in the farmer's grey-haired head. 'It is a perfectly reasonable offer - one businessman to another'. The farmer shook his head and blinked firmly once, then again, as though he was clearing the effects of too much strong cider. 'Well, I suppose...' he hesitated, 'I suppose it might be fair, seeing as how I've got quite a bit to sell this season, it being a good harvest and all, so I don't suppose I'd miss just a little bit of it. And your shirt does look to be in better nick than mine', he started to mutter while removing his shirt, 'Don't know why you'd want my torn old thing, but mine ain't to wonder such things, no sir, not old Tuvrik. Just make the trade and be pleased about it'. The farmer began to ramble on and on about this woe and that, how none of it was of his making and not his to question, but it would be nice to have some good luck now and then in his poor and lonely life. Ryl barely resisted the urge to yawn. When the exchange was made, Ryl patted the old man's horse and fed it one of the carrots he'd been given. 'There now, old boy. You take care of him now, won't you?' 'Of course I will. He's the only beast I've got' the farmer promised. 'I was talking to the horse', Ryl replied. He turned from the road, stepped lightly down into the ditch, and began to make his way into the sparse cover of the trees. 'Well, I never!’ the old man exclaimed and took the reins firmly in hand. With an indignant shrug he shook the leather straps, bidding the horse to walk on. 'I never...’ he started again, but then was at a loss to remember just what it was he never did. The horse took the weight of the wagon and slowly they moved off down the road, just a touch lighter than when they'd stopped. The farmer started to whistle off-key and could still be heard a minute or so later, his lack of a tune finally fading away on the breeze. Ryl moved freely through the trees, his light step and trained eye leaving no trace of his passing. He considered his long training well worth the effort at times like these - on the run in the wild with few resources, if any at all. There were always resources at hand though - you just had to have the time to find them. He loved the chase and if he could not be the hunter, well then, being the hunted was the next best thing. He had rarely lost such contests, and when he had, it had always been to another Agent, and that gave him cause for concern. During his briefing there had been no mention of others working on this issue - not that this had been the first time the Administration had withheld information - yet he had been captured. For the moment, he moved this vital piece of information to one side. For now he had to get as far from the road as possible, as whoever had dumped him there may be looking for more sport. He had to get out of these trees, get his bearings, and learn just how far he had been carried from Adin. He did not particularly wish to return to the city, but return he must if he was to learn anything more, and Argentrane was undoubtedly still being held there. To get back in he would need a new cover.

Happy birthday, Yui! (sorry, I'm late )

Happy Birthday Arwen.

Happy Birthday, Vincent! The big 15 isn't it?... hmmmm You know you're on the slippery slope to 30 now, don't you? Just kidding... Hope the day is a GREAT one for you - lots of good stuff (food is good, presents is good, money is good (well, some money anyway... not that stuff in Monopoly. That's no good. Guy yelled at me down at the store when I tried to... er... anyhoo) ) Happy Birthday.

Protagonist: Brilliant! This is the final piece I need. I shall immediately add this rating system to the criteria within my top secret Almost Random Selection Engine for Nearly All Literature (A.R.S.E.N.A.L. ® ) This seemingly innocent box of fortune cookies is actually the device by which I intend to take over the world!! MWUHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I shall be able to produce literature in any genre that the foolish mortals of earth will buy by the millions. Their putrid minds will be sucked into plots thinner than the paper on which they are printed! Their weak eyes will cry rivers of tears as I suck their freewill and force them to buy endless items of associated paraphernalia - t-shirts, CDs, pens, coffee cups, bed linen, wallpaper, drapes, toys, colouring books, teaching aids (with the additional benefit of sucking a whole new generation into my plans for world domination! *cue evil laugh* ) **Hardback, paperback and coming soon - coffee table edition. Individual editions sold seperately. Available now at all significant booksellers. Not available online until March 2004** It's all simply to marvelous! Mwuhahahahaha... Mwuhahahahahaha... What? What do you mean, 'It's already been done'? Just who the heck is Peter Jackson? Oh, sh&$! Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Don't you just find that Antidisestablishmentarianism is the paradigm of the new age? *puke-inducingly cute small child with homicidal tendencies enters stage left carrying small chainsaw and blunt spoon* What are you doing here, puke-inducingly cute small child with homicidal tendencies? No! Wait! I was only kidding about getting you to wipe my a$$ for a change! Please... no... *Effect: chainsaw engine revving up* AAAAARRRRGGHHHHhhhhhh........ *Effect: Extreme chainsaw goresplatter* Narrator: Ooooo... that's gotta hurt! *Cue: Wyvern enters stage right* Wyv: So, what did I miss? Hmmmm... Anyone else here feel the urge for hot, fresh donuts from Krispy Kreme? Yummmmmy! Lights: FADE **** The End. PS. GREAT piece, Aardvark! ROFLMAO

Dresden ******** O city, fallen city. Once beautiful, content. What tortuous ruin has attended you? O city, fallen city. Such dark and desperate clouds veil your eyes. See the living stumble among the dead. Prepare your people, O fallen one. Lower their eyes lest they see your violation. O city, fallen city. What hope have you to greet the new dawn? O city, fallen city. Hope falls pale and still, lifeless, as have your children. O sorrow! Stone lies upon stone no more. Hear the wailing of your mothers. O city, fallen city. Wipe the tears from the eyes of your children. They will feel no more pain. They will hear no more screaming. They will cry no more. They are at rest. © Psimon 04 August 2003 inspired by this pic: Dresden

Sorrow ************ No, cast me not upon the rock content to hold my soul, for I await the cry of cock, the dawn at which he crows. O come the dawn, my soul renew, flesh sanctified and more. The purest heart shall ne'er be hewn nor spirit free laid low. Alas! My fate hath been foretold my pleas fall soft and still. Fair lightening strikes, foul thunder rolls o'er heights and depths unknown. Now here I stay upon the time, mine eyes cast still and dull. What vision clear, once counted mine, lies held within Sorrow. © Psimon 04 August 2003 inspired by this pic : Rock of Sorrow

Moses ***** Ryan Phillips possessed a mind-numbing collection of movie paraphernalia, as diverse as it was cluttered and covered in dust. No matter how I tried, I just could not understand his fascination given that Ryan had never seen a movie. Stepping carefully between the boxes of scripts and carefully rolled posters, I made my way towards the enormous oak desk that held sway in the darkest corner of the room. It was here that Ryan placed himself each day, having negotiated the maze of his most precious belongings with consummate ease, and it was here he sat until the light had admitted defeat for another day. He did nothing at his desk but sit. He did not eat, he did not speak, and he did not sleep, a fact I was sure of only because I had watched him, day after day, sitting, staring at the void that consumed his sight. He blinked; he breathed; he sat. And I watched. I can only suppose that his collection was a palpable link to that part of the world which he could not share with me. Perhaps it is egotistical of me to think that way, but then that is just how I am. He accepts me as I am, just as I accept him, and we would have it no other way. Today seemed misplaced in the clutter of our lives. There was something not quite right in the world. A ‘disturbance in The Force’, Ryan would say. A feeling, call it intuition if you must give it a name, had nudged me from my dreams and then rudely pushed me towards the study without so much as an ‘Excuse me’ or a ‘Pardon me for disturbing you’. Fate could be decidedly obstinate when it wanted to be. But I did not resist too fiercely. I was hungry and thirsty when I opened my eyes to the new day, so this path was as good as any to the kitchen. I watch him, as I have done so many times, waiting for his eyes to fall shut and spring open, but they remained still. What was he staring at? Nothing. He couldn’t see. He was staring at nothing. Then why didn’t he blink? This was strange. This was not like him at all. A butterfly began a trapeze solo in my gut while an icy worm slithered and slipped its way down my back. I tried to get a little closer, straining to see or hear evidence of breathing. There was none! Oh, Ryan… no. ***** ‘So, who is going to look after him?’ ‘The last will and testament of Mr Phillips clearly states that Moses is to stay with the collection, wherever it may be housed. I can see the headlines now – “Blind billionaire heir dies childless – leaves all to cat” There’s more than enough funding to establish the collection in its own building, and to employ a full staff to care for it and the animal. All in all, I’d say that’s one lucky cat’. The two lawyers looked at me hawkishly as I feigned sleep in my carry-crate. I was keeping my eye on them, though. I’ve never trusted lawyers. ‘That’s for sure. One very lucky cat’.

The single most important quality? LOVE To quote the good book... Kinda sums up the ideal mate, no matter what you want out of life... My wife has demonstrated so many of these qualities throughout the 12 years we have known each other (10.5 of those years spent as husband and wife) and I have always tried to do likewise. And we will continue to do so until we are laid to rest next to one another (and we hope carry on in the hereafter too ) I am VERY privileged to know her The same qualities/standards of love can be applied to any true friend. I am likewise privileged to have a few of those too Alas, the modern world has such a poor understanding of what true love is.

The tall cloaked figure, all but concealed by shadow, stretched and flexed his back, weary of all the words. Such outrageous claims and bravado were part and parcel of these gatherings, of course, but after the first dozen or so, bounty declarations did become a little tiresome. Neither was it the first time he had attended a meeting whose target was known to him - such was the price of his past. So much years, so many faces. Still. This one promised to be just a bit more interesting than usual given the number of faces he recognized in the auditorium. Some he knew only by reputation. Others were well known to him indeed. Oh, what a tangled web we weave... He settled back against the cold, hard wall to watch the show. There was always time to be entertained, after all.

My goodness, beloved! How have I missed these absolute treasures??? They are all magical moments! Collect them, submit them, publish them! - You must! Please.... Children the world over would be spell-bound (and a good many adults too, I'd wager!) A good illustrator to do justice to these words and you would have a best-seller that would grace many a children's bookshelf. I can picture it it my mind so clearly! I would be the first to buy one.

I liked this piece, Alaeha A simple rhythm, truth and a dash of pain in each line, a certain melancholic resolve in the end... all the things I like in poetry The repetition, particularly what's, I found to be a little distracting. Kept getting hung up on the apostrophes (probably because I have so much trouble with them myself! LOL ) Perhaps a replacement word on just one line in each affected stanza? I would also suggest switching the 3rd and 6th stanzas... The 3rd (as it stands) seems to be leading to a conclusion/climactic statement, yet pulls back. I don't think it would lose too much breaking up the rhyme pattern from the 6th stanza into your closing statement... and with a bit of alteration to patch the broken sentence from 5th to 6th stanzas... Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy! All just my own thoughts, of course. Please take or leave as you feel appropriate I have taken the liberty of copy the original and altering it below to illustrate my points ( changes in bold): Thoughts?? No throwing of heavy objects please, as I bruise easily...

I like this piece, but IHMO, there are a couple of things that could be reviewed/revised: I would go further than Sal and Gyr in revising the third stanza... Perhaps something like: (changes in bold based on Gyr's revision) Love's true embrace, Acceptance(’s) - shining face, <-- remove 's , replace with hyphen lips upon lips, soul upon soul. World without shame passions built to roaring flame breath upon breath heart upon heart. but passions wane - loves last refrain lie upon lie truth upon truth Words said in haste, Two hearts laid (to) waste, <--- remove 'to' Pain upon pain Tear upon tear. This would give the rhyming structure a mirrored effect (stanzas 1 & 4 being very close, as would be 2 & 3) However... it would still need some work on the meter. The piece, in its current form, lends itself well to a four-syllable line (line#2 & 6 would just need to be reworked to fit) Anyhoo... these are only my own thoughts on the work. Hope they are understandable (and I haven't just been dribbling as usual LOL ) Your friend may take or leave them as they see fit As Sal has said, we would love to see your friend contribute personally. We don't bite (well, not *really* hard, anyway)

Nice work, Chanz! Some good thoughts also, Alaeha, on this excellent piece. Speaks right to the heart of many of society's ills today, doesn't it? .. So few people are honest anymore. It's all falseness.. political correctness run amok, social 'norms' forced on people.. so much falseness, so much pretense. IMHO the last two lines fit ok, if viewed as the writer (Chanz or first personage ) making that attempt to 'break out' of the 'falseness' of the rhyme of the rest of the piece... (??) just a thought....

All works © Psimon July 2003 Imagine the time ********************** I have often pondered the life I might have led had I been born then. Some forty years before I was. Hard times - dark times. No hint yet of the dawn of hope. I, a child of the sixties, wishing and wondering. Dreaming, pondering days when, as a man, I might have been sent to fight, to bleed, to die for King and country. Would I have been a hero? A hill-taker. A ball-breaker. A slayer of men - the Enemy. Who is the Enemy? Whomever my superiors tell me is the enemy! Kill him? Sir, yes, SIR! Bang, bang, you're dead. Now lie down and die, you filthy SOB! No, don't cry. Face your death like a man... Even if you are just a boy. Would I have been a coward? Run rabbit. As fast and as far as you can. Don't stop! They'll get you if you do. Run. Run. Can't face the enemy. Can't face my family. Won't face what I have become - a runaway child in a world of madmen. Would I have been an everyman? Nondescript, unremarkable, unremarked. Passing grey and muted through the age. Having done my bit for the effort but no more, walking home in siren dark. Home. A small cottage in the country? Perhaps a cold brick coffin waiting to be buried under the next V-one to find its random mark. Lasting love ****************** No, this mustn't be wrong, cause it just feels so right. But they say that I can't hold and love you tonight. Yes, they scream and they shout, and try to break us apart. But I cannot deny the love I feel in my heart. Oh, please take me away, to a place all our own, where our hearts can be free and our love can be shown. Every moment I long to feel your body with mine, hear you moaning my name and taste your lips so divine. I feel your hands touching me, the heat within floods my mind so clouding visions of you as our limbs are entwined. A girl should love as she would and not be chained to the past. So I'll go now with you and make a love that will last. Consider ************* What lasting love should bring to mind; a vision of a happy time. The dreams of softly falling snow, a red-flushed cheek not turned to go. A hand, a touch, that lingers still. The voice of one who bears no ill, though not for lack of reason. To ears that wait upon the words that tumble like the fledgling birds from lips, the nest from whence they fall. Consider these and ponder all the gifts of love bestowed on one who dares not look upon a sun that has not touched the season. For what is wisdom denied air 'cept empty tomb and vacant stare. A pointless life that runs the course only to find there is no horse beneath it's seat and so must end a waste of breath none can defend, and none forgive such treason. Yes, listen well and call to mind the lessons learned, not left behind. These words will see you on your way to love and health without decay. O' lasting love, that costly gem that slips through hands of callous men, will take root in your heart. This is not a drill *********************** This is not a drill. Repeat. This is not a drill. Please ensure your tray table is securely stowed and your chair is in the upright and locked position. Please extinguish all smoking materials as you will observe the 'No Smoking' sign is currently illuminated and smoking may kill you anyway. As we descend, a mask will fall from a small compartment above your head. There we go. Now, please remain calm. Take the mask in your hand like so, and place over your face... like so. Pull the straps located at the sides of your head so the mask fits snuggly. You will need to wear this mask for the remainder of your life. No young man, that's too tight. See? You have cut yourself on the edge of the mask. Please don't worry about the blood stains. We all have much more to worry about than a few drops of blood. One moment please. We have an announcement from the Captain... Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. We are approaching Real Life at near terminal velocity and will be impacting shortly. The weather is a little rough at times, though I'm sure you're all used to that having just survived The High School Express. We hope you enjoyed your first and only flight with Puberty Airways. Have a nice day!

ACK! Sorry, beloved... meant to include these also. These were all entries to a local comp (not the International comp) The poems had to be about local street names. The Block got a 'Highly Commended' - There is an area in the city where all the street names are those of famous poets, hence it is refered to as 'Poets Block' Prizes were 1st, 2nd, 3rd only. One other poem got HC'd, so I think I did ok. Total number of entries was 120. The Block ************ I sit here, the sounds of the valley drifting up to me through sparse winter trees, staring at a blank page while it stares back with a pale, blank expression on it’s face. The page seems expectant, somehow eager - if a page can seem eager - for my thoughts. It must be very disappointed though, because I’ve nothing to give it. I wonder if, in days past, the likes of Milton or Byron had this problem. Perhaps Tennyson sat likewise, head in hands, pondering how Shakespeare, Thackeray or Longfellow got past this terrible affliction. Perhaps I should look to the greatest of my ancestor’s country? Burns would have solved it in a thrice with a whisky and a wee bit ‘o haggis. Trouble is, I don’t drink and I’ve never tried haggis. Yes, it’s hard to write a piece for a competition when you have Poet’s Block. ANZAC *********** I may grow old, but there are so many who will not. Age will not tear them down – the ravages of time a foe to all but they. When I see the sun’s light fade, will I think of them, lying in the trenches or upon some distant field? As I look to the crest of the eastern hills, enjoying a morning brew of hot, dark coffee, and waiting to greet the sun once more, will their final moments spring to mind? They gave so much – all they had, all they would ever have – so that I could live as I do now; so that I could see my children grow as they will never see theirs. A single day is never enough, though it serves to remind me, lest I forget. I will remember them. River Leeway ************* You’ve done it now, you have. Done what? Stuffed it up. Stuffed what up? The river. It’s supposed to bend the other way just there. You’re really for it now. He’s gonna be well miffed with you. I can tell. I know Him better than you. Oh, is that right? Well I’m sure He’ll let me off. Cut me some slack. Allow some minor difference. You know? I mean, it’s my first time with a river and all, so I’m sure it’ll be alright. What’s a wrong bend in a river between mates, eh? And you even spelt it wrong on the map. What?! It’s meant to be ‘The River Lee’, but you’ve gone and put ‘Riverlea’. No gap and the ‘a’ on the end isn’t right. Well, that’s the way I like it, ok? That’s my way… The Riverlea Way!

All works © Psimon 2003 To be a man ***************** The people dance, without money, without prejudice. How curious. I recognized one of them. She used to be mine, now no more. Love dies... or was it simply lust that dies and love that remains? I can never remember. Whichever it is, it goes and the departure is never pretty. Lusty urges give way to poisonous attack after attack, on and on, until one or both cry Enough! I suspect it is this capitulation, this laying down of arms, that will drive a man to ruin. How can a true man permit such a change of heart and still call himself a man? What benefits are there in such a cowardly retreat? We, as men, must rage against this weakening of our manhood. We must! But, yet again, I do not. And she walks away from me. Again. Nothing to do now but go home. Alone. What is it about women? Can't live with 'em... pass the beer nuts. Free ******** Know that I must be free. Watch my life seep through the warm glass Feel the rage slip from my weakened grasp Touch my eyes and close the windows of my soul Taste the salty water of my final tears Hear the soft sigh of the last breath escaping my lips Hear the wail of a mother, plaintive cry Taste the cucumber sandwiches, they're lovely Touch the cold brass handles as you take my weight Feel the pain of a heart, broken and torn Watch me lowered slowly, return me to Earth's bosom Watch a family gather at the headstone Feel the rain beating down on your hunched shoulders Touch the soft petals of the pretty flowers, fresh each year Taste your tears as they flow afresh with each memory Hear the rain striking the neatly mowed grass at your feet Hear the inquest report, read dispassionately Taste the bitter coffee in the sidewalk cafe downtown Touch the photo you still carry in your wallet Feel the love I could never give you in this life Watch the people hurry past, oblivious to your pain. Know that at last I am free. On a pale horse - Part 1 ***************************** When a life is on the line, his, hers, another, a man bares his soul. Reduced to near-hysterical tears, he confesses every sin he has commited in his past and pre-confesses to anything he may likely do in his future. His confessional? A phone booth. No curtains or sliding wood divider to maintain his privacy - his confession before God, his maker, through the conduit of God's representative on this ball of land, sea and sky. His priest? A phone. Where is the warm, human heart that will offer him support in his hour of need? Nowhere to be found in the cold voice at the other end of the line. A plain voice. A killer's voice. On a pale horse voice. His sin? A life built on lies. Salt ******* I was your salt, your flavoring. You said that life was tasteless without me, bland and boring. But that was then. Now I am your meatloaf - your everyday. You say that life is tedious with me, bland and boring. This is now. I have tried to flavor myself You say that I should stop trying to dress mutton as lamb. This is me now. I was your salt. Now I am your old chewing gum, tasteless, to be spat out and trampled on by men. Enjoy your new, fresher meal. I hope you choke on every mouthful of her. Equilibrium *************** Acolyte of Order Priestess of Purity Cleric of Truth Balance Keeper Father of Lies Mother of Sin Son of Chaos Coming home *********************** It's been a while, but now I'm back. With time to stand, despite the lack of bold new verse, amongst my peers once more, my friends. For all the years must seem as naught to age and thus I greet the days ahead of us. I stoop as time doth bend me low but rest assured, no more I'll go. Yes, here I've found a home sweet home, a place of rest, a well read tome. A place I call to mind at times of chaos noise and madness chimes. For here my head can find its peace and savor words, most sweet release. What use words? ********************* If I were to write of my love, what words could possibly express her wondrous qualities? I could try, in vain, to describe her soft skin, clean, smelling sweet as a sparkling rosé, hints of cherry and strawberry intertwined, or, in moments of passion, slick with sweat musty with desire, salty taste. Wasted words. So wide of the mark. I may attempt to speak of her eyes - they drown me at every glance in their hazel hues, softly rustling autumn leaves, gentle-breeze-blown, tumbling over one another as her gaze shifts this way then that. I am swept away on that fall wind, gathered up in the arms of the season, laid to rest there in her eyes. O' for the words to speak true! Her neck! O' her neck! I have seen passion, life, pulsing through her as I steal another furtive look at that sensual oasis twixt her delicate jaw and head-at-rest-inviting shoulders. The sight alone stirs my blood, betrays my lust. What use are words? I am lost. Her lips? I am a forgotten man! I am no more. To see her pout is to be lost forever in the quest to touch them to your own. The prize for which a man would willingly lay down his sorry life - just a moment, just a taste. I cannot go on. My words are as ash in my mouth, dry and lifeless. They do no justice to her beauty, her grace - the angelic vision that is my love. What use are words?