I’m in a cynical mood
Time to write something rude
I don’t care what you think
It doesn’t matter, I won’t blink
For all of you who think you know it
Maybe it’s time for the cynical poet

~~~/\~~~^^


you sit looking forward
to learn the words of the
new alphabet
your senses have regained

you gaze at the photographs
memories
your time with a friend
in Abkhazia

the elfin oak trees silver leaves
sigh and teach you the soul
of the winds 'round
Akhali Atoni

monastic mountains engraved
a simple poignant song
in the silence


you believe you are not fit for much

but you are


else wise, why would the world
you have come to know
color your heart cyan

as you rest
in the arms of the


sky?


SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc aka
Catherine Jarvis
(c)  2013


Abkhazia is a province
in southern Russia
There are many monistaries there

Akhali Atoni is one

autumn apples, gone from
the tree, a few this year.

coxes then , singly in the florist,
basketed among the flowers.

lunch at 20p, rattle the pips
to make sure. slice neatly white,while
watching the wind strip the leaves.

this is an autumn apple. break time
in the staff room. only the pips are left.
to grow again.

I come to the page with nothing to say
but I feel I must write anyway.

You see I'm dealing with a pain
it's coursing through my veins
as I try to remain silent,
not scream!

But the page can speak,
it can scream, it's never told to hold its tongue,
it's never told not to dream, to cry, or act dignified.

It's not even told not to lie
most of what's written is lies.

Not to deceive but to please.
But I asked for the truth, and it was given to me.

So now I'm dealing with a pain,
and wishing your lies
could deceive me once again.