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poetry by lou sid linesman - on life, love & politics
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Not Known Here!
Made in JA!
Delivered to UK!
Got badly addressed
An' been causin' the mail trouble
From the very first day!
Maybe, somehow, someway, she'll find the right home!
Maybe...sometime...but we can only pray!
If she's posted 'round 'ere,
I'd be sure to unwrap 'er!
Before deciding on whether...
To return 'er...
To sender!
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2006. All Rights Reserved.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Respect
I’ve been...
There...
And so...
Have you...
That was the One and only...
Thing...
That I...
Really...
Ever knew...
I went...
There...
Once...
And lost...
My path...
Home...
Returned...
There...
Again...
Gave up my compass, received a map...
On my way...
Back...
I met...
You...
Got...
Separated...
Got...
Lost...
In the familiar...
Got sunk into the deep-track...
Again...
Heard you...
Cry...
To the void...
Answered...
Into...
The void...
Yet until...
I reached...
Home...
And found...
You’d arrived...
Safely...
Too...
I couldn’t...
Tell...
Anything...
So...
Don’t tell me:...
“Don’t go there”...
Coz I...
Already...
Been...
Just didn’t...
Go...
There...
With you...
But...
So wanted...
To...
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2006. All Rights Reserved.
Natural
Where are your pretty little flowers?
The ones you water by the bucketful...
Compelled by nature...
Your nature...
The ones for which you daily drain down the reservoir...
Thoughtlessly...
Carelessly...
Regardless of the One who should drink there
The One who fears to remember the clearest drink of all
Who admits no thirst
So creates thirst...
Where there is no spring
But you...are also a flower...
Standing tall...
And lovely...
How can you even shed a tear...
Without drinking...
First...
You’ve borne that water...
Far...
To the fields...
Of strangers...
Where the earth is...
Dry...
Where they seek...
No...
Water...
So...
Why not call those precious little things...
To your own...
Garden...
Where One same draught...
Can nurture...
All...
Because...
In the end...
They must learn...
To find...
Their own...
Streamland...
Didn’t you?
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2006. All Rights Reserved.
Wotless Words
In the silent schools where I was primed
The touching-words remained out-classed...
And hanging...
At the door...
Only allies to the rules...
Ink spilled from my pen...
Absorbed by page after unsuitable page,
Blotting out all definition…
From my lines,
But
With you,
My words are no weapons...
Nor wool,
To comfort...and confuse,
Nor woo-manual substitutions
For emotions...
To abuse.
To you,
My words are my breath...and then yours...
Thoughts...
Breeding thoughts,
Leasing no space
Lending no excuse...
Leaving love...to make love...
Without lies...
And with
The widened
Rounds...
Of your
Dilated...
And expectant...
Eyes
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2006. All Rights Reserved.
