Last day of summer*
autumn knocking
at the door
as all years before
life's undertones
will broadly be
the same.  Weltschmerz
is what the season
will offer and utter-

I wonder
what meaning
living
does confer--

left in a vacuum
I wish not to think
of the whys and hows
just wait for what
the immediate hours
will of their accord bring
be it simple joys or deep sorrows
true wisdom abides
in humble accepting-

past and present
intertwine
in the fabric of time
moment follows moment
none does know
any future outcome-

I'll sit quietly
expecting nothing
bid my heart stay still
in emptying.

I like a new day

it will not be the same

along the way

I'll ascribe it a new name

Life is a hidden bacterium

'It all adds up'
  not possible
  life is scattered
  with too many a variable-

  true to say: 'Nothing adds up'
  life is all-pervading trouble
  we fail, we blame, we stumble
  we struggle with the improbable.

Busy all the time
nothing worthwhile done
to inane moments succumb
while precious time takes its run.

Who dares say
love knows no limit?
much of love-poetry
is make-belief---minus wit--

how often does love suffer
waiver, doubt and driven to the pit
of despair where the right words
couldn't be found--- lovers split

in bitterness and acrimony, the blame,
the bad-mouthing game, the conflict
what's the real thing, the beauty
of this 'it'?

it's human frailty, inconstancy
dreams unfulfilled, the loss of grit
when common ground asunder breaks
and love's very foundations are deadly hit.

Poetry anyone can write
I tried but never turned out right
Don't convince me about writing for profit
I have neither talent nor wit-

Miss Prose once did invite
Me to a Writing Workshop in Bright
The convenor concluded I wasn't fit
With these words: ' You write worse than a kid!'.

The best part
of self---a deception
a denial --none such-
all is false description-

but none would admit their worst is hidden
for such overcoming there's no prescription
human nature is selfish, callous, warts-ridden
a tale too tragic for mention!

West:  Accumulate

Zen:    Empty yourself

Nature has her moods

listen, you can hear her sighs

in echoes of trees

I can't claim
the sun shines only for me
nor the stars and moon
in all their splendour and beauty

But what would I
really be
if I don't have the courage
to ask: 'Would you love me?'

It's useless
      to ruminate
     that which was once desired
     it's just too late!

But those were the days
when all of us wrote
love-letters. Week-ends
were thus consumed
never mind the school homework
it could wait. How to choose
the words that would win her over?
- I quoted Shakespeare's
  Shall I compare thee to a summer day?...
  that red letter-box was symbol
  of my boyish hope. She would reply or most likely I can't say for sure. Who knows a pretty girl 's heart when all the boys in school were trying to attract her attention? Lily was crowned the Beauty Queen this year and her dad is rich. They live in a mansion with a swimming-pool, have three cars and four servants and she wears a Rolex. The boys say she's playing the game of hard-to-get.

I met her once after a school-concert during which I performed Tossellis's Serenata on the violin. She approached me and said I love that song very much. I play it on the piano often at home. One day we should do a duet. A brief meeting and since I've fallen in love with her I think.

I've just written this letter suggesting we meet. Have read it six times and can memorise every word. Have been having sleepless nights.

Will she reply?

I don't know you
nor you, me
we regard each other
as mystery--

'stranger', a word
of disconnect
the other person
our mind seeks to dissect-

doubt sets in (it's an instinct)
in its train fears resurrect
(reason recedes, emotions flood
our entire being-- we are wrecked

in the sea of confusion)
what will save us is a new mindset
all encounters are opportunities
for us our humanity to beget.

Call to duty?
whose call?
the law?
who made the law?
to war?
who created the war?
die for country's honour?
what about mine
my family's?  Don't sober
us with words of national grandeur--

I'll only answer
to one call
that of my conscience-
talking and walking tall
taking arms to see the enemy fall?
why don't you legislators
walk with us through the battle-mall
instead of smoking your cigars
and drinking whisky or brandy
mindless of the horrors
that haunt and plague us
night and day, careless of the sorrows
of our loved ones we left behind?
will we who are here live
to see the morrows?
where's the solace that we would find?

In Flanders Fields we are stranded
with the hard stones as our bed

will you remember us
when the war is won?
but by then we would have been dead.

Love is over-praised
and over-idolised
we tend to overlook
it does hurt and agonise

Dear M,
                                       Do we really need to live forever?
Yes, it's the now-ness that matters--the immediacy--the light, the colour, the smell, the sound, the love and adoration , the tenderness, the touch and embrace, the beauty and splendour, the inspiration,  the effusion of fullness,  the heart in worship,  the music, the poetry,  the unity, the connectedness, the silence and stillness, the unfolding, the awakening, the coming into being, the mystery, the forgetting and dying of self, the leap into the unknown,  the purity, the quintessence, the simplicity, the acceptance,  the resurrection and renaissance.
                  Then time is forgotten and loses its potency, it stays aside and wakes  in reverence to the religion of living that we have created from our heart-- It would say--I am learning from mankind-- its true self I'm yet to fathom and understand.  
                   To be is the eternity.

copyright 2017

Please don't **** me
and this was flashed over TV outlet
' It's been FORECASTED that...'
past participle is also 'forecast'--idiot!

Loving in equal measure
all the time---this never does happen
on-days, off-days
for whatever rhyme or reason

Mistake
is often more
than missing
a take

Spring sings to the trees

light embraces the forest

life finds its meaning

It can be no great art
without the touch of the heart

TIME-STRADDLERS

We are straddlers riding
on the back of time
clinging precariously to its sides
between the now and future
unassured of any final outcome-

lost in moments of loving and hating
laughing and weeping
hoping and despairing
dreaming and waking-
winning and losing

what's that we can count as our own
at the end when all that we would but inherit
is old age and its decaying hours?
the youthful field would have lost its glory
and nothing is left of all the summer-flowers--

my pen would have been dry
my words, feeble and faint
no valiant song would spring forth
from my mouth, nothing radiant
would come my way but the day's long sigh

in the horizon mist hangs heavily
dust seems to cover my weary eyes
my voice has lost all its vibrancy
nights come too soon and darker are their shades
the world is no longer mine and my lonely tears I hide.

When reason
       becomes a prison

What does the echo say?
     Why has it chosen you?
     Special you must be
     or it wouldn't have come your way!

    What story does it convey?
    Can you with others share?
    Is it about love and joy
   or loss and dismay?

   What will your future portend?
   Will beauty revisit you once again?
   Has love for you ripened
   and erased all your pain?

   The echo -no doubt then
  has become your close friend
  your confidant and will
  accompany you to the end

A single word can save a life
a phrase can empower society
a sentence can revive a nation
a poem can change the world's entire history.

Not wise, Dr Sellars ,but curious, imaginative and quite intuitive.

Life is too complex and reason has vast limits. Some ignorance is healthy, too much knowledge is a burden as it encourages rumination and speculation (this wasters time) and also often leads to pride,  arrogance and bigotry. That's why the intellectual mind is not a happy one.  You well know geniuses and the smartest people suffered/suffer from mental problems----Schumann, Rachmaninov, Tchaikovsky, Beethoven,  Donizetti, Mahler, Ivor Gurney, Nietzsche, Van Gogh, John Clare, Churchill, Lincoln (he contemplated suicide), Wittgenstein (I thought of suicide every day--2 of brothers took their own lives), John Stuart Mills, Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, Tolstoy, Ernest Hemingway (too his own life), ......Back home, Les Murray, Michael Leunig, Sculthorpe, a former Premier of WA.....suffered/suffer from depression......more next time.  I gave 6 talks on happiness in 2018, not as a guru but as one who talks from experience....when I launched my 5th book IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF ZEN- THE PATH TO A CALMER AND HAPPIER LIFE, sold in 14 countries and rated 5 star by 8 book-dealers.  
Please excuse me,  I got carried away.....

sincerely Peter

Why are we made
to suffer and cry
when so much beauty
surrounds us- to die

when we’re in
the spring of life
when all the flowers
are dancing by our side?

  Our love is still so nascent
  waiting to bloom- to deny?
  We are yet to share the best
   ere the dusk hours draw nigh-

    to music I turn
    for consolation - there I fly
    where tears don’t appear
   and pain and suffering never pass by.

Simplicity is too hard
for many people
as they take delight
in things that impress others.

This writers should know
there's a downtime of mind
the hidden incubation that's so fertile
when the best ideas their pathways will find

uptime is too often dumb
rush and hurry blurs the line
of creativity--from silent reverie
the beauty of words shall wake and shine.

A new life
        in the dawning
        the end of strife
        birth of new meaning

Self-professed contrition is much too easy
for wrongdoing to come there looms still the possibility.

Autumn's last few days
leaves silently fall on ground
flight of birds homewards

There she walks
who is she?
I can't turn away
she has won over me.

Her eyes are so tender
her hair is purest radiancy
it dances in the summer air
her lips are invitingly rosy.

This is not imagination--verily
she's looking my way smiling at me
my heart beats a hundred times faster
ah, she is the testament of incomparable beauty!

The evening is beginning to wane
dusk is gathering and the sky is misty
she gives me a quick sudden wink
but alas her message I count as a deep mystery!

People are not exceptional
but,  in truth, artificial.

I don't even know myself enough
other people how dare I judge?

I need not
    be strong
   enough strength is mine
   if I do no wrong

Let this your most sacred portal be
   to reach your deepest inner self to find your liberty

Outside city pub
hours long after midnight
woman stands alone

Why?
Why not?

Muss es sein*?
Must it be?

Warum nicht?
Why not?

Should
would
perhaps

if
but

if only we could

I don't know
why
nor
why not

I have drawn
a blank

should I
continue to ask
why?

It rained through the night
    mother and child in station
    soldier coming home

It's not that
I have no feelings
the truth is
I have no heart!

I don't thirst
to be first
unknown and unnoticed
I silently pursue my life-purpose

Feelings can't be replicated
they are specific- moments created
each bears its particularity and nuance
every encounter is marked by difference-

(say) a man is attracted to a woman
the first sight induces a wild passion
when they fail in love at a later date
that rush of affection might have disappeared:

of such human nature is made:
there's no known way of escape.

Family occupations:

Dad's a policeman
mum's a prison-officer
brother's a senior prosecutor
me?   A secret--service informer!

Expect
nothing
to be perfect
sound thinking!

Motionless

Can't move can't feel can't hear can't speak
Can't cry can't scream can't drink can't eat
Can't laugh, can't smile, can't frown, can't wink
Can't touch, can't smell, can't taste, can't blink
Can't love, can't hate, can't dance, can't sing
Motionless, emotionless, can't do anything
Elizabeth P Reynolds
Written by
Elizabeth P Reynolds  F

               my coda:
can't work
can't concentrate
can't sleep
stay up hours too late

are you holding someone tonight
illicit love shamelessly celebrate?

There never was a golden age
it was erroneously chronicled
by writers and historians
with exaggerated imagination
too keen to whet up emotion-
where man was and is-
the same theme takes over
in contention and confusion
a scene of humanity amiss-

there never was a golden age
beauty welled briefly only to fade
youth's dreams held sway but transiently
life was a game-play, ill-conceived, silly
without heart,  substance nor pity
first the  false waxing, then the swift decay-

there never was a golden age
power and greed had the last say
disobedience and disloyalty
was silenced by the sword
the voice of justice was brutally
silenced,  the just lethally put away--

there never was a golden age
love fought hard to survive
while faith had vacated the stage-

there shall be no golden age
what's left to be felt and seen
is but war, conflict, hate and rawest rage.

I wonder, so often I do
about nature and nurture
if I hadn't attended school
could I not have ended as a loafer?

How could we ever admit to ourselves or openly
on our sleeves we wear falsehood?
we could never be our own accusers (it would be silly!)
for we are always kind, decent, honest and good-

how convenient it is to feign
(this word we fear--the normative 'should')
surely life is for our comfort and gain
(how we forget we're the civilised brute!)