Never more in witches haze, 
the devils touch with eyes a glaze. 
Emotions gone, thought is all, 
you think you’re high, in truth you fall, 
for every trick and whim of men,
a trapped endowment inside the pen. 
Controlled, it’s fine to live and take, 
your paranoia shows it’s fake. 
So drop the weed and live for real, 
you need it not and that’s no deal.

Tales of Old #26

The coffee culture alive and well 
with smoke and roasted beans to smell, 
a wobbly table carved throughout 
and people many drinking out.

It’s a wonder in time where we go to relate, 
the open door the empty plate,
the people waiting in a queue.
A home for all, with an urban view.

A study once started so far from complete, 
the lives we are living can be such a treat, 
with freedom as fascism and justice for peace 
we the Motown maddest are tapping our feet.

A while to wait, in yet not far,
like cross town traffic in a small town car. 
The hustle and bustle, the thrive of pace, 
as folk do business to fund their race. 
Not too bad as such, but look within, 
there’s a lot more here than shoes and gin.

Kids with kids all on their own, 
with friends with kids without a home. 
What is the rush? Why move so fast? 
Why not just let each moment last. 
To be so young and let it go,
to be in lust and rush to blow,
a simple phrase, been said to bore, 
just put a rubber on before!

The Third Tablet #2

Drive another nail in the coffin, 
pin another flower on the wreath,
cap another wild eyed Arabian, 
bleed him till his kin know defeat.

Cut out all the hearts in your freedom fight, 
loose as many souls as you bequeath, 
put another log on the fire,
settle back with capped and shinny teeth.

Tis a plastic man in flimsy robes who sends us all to death, 
with a smile and gleam in his eye and oil to pay the debt.
He walks his dogs and loves the kids who’ll one day fight for him, 
as the flag of freedom fly’s above, no blood upon his chin.

Though in the battle rage is lost a thousand strapping men 
who won’t be turning up one day at home and welcomed in. 
They’ve past and lost their use by date.
He never mentioned this!
That jolly man upon our throne
who waived them with a kiss.

It’s for the fight of freedom, a war in name of peace, 
another country in our hand, more riches for to fleece.

Alas we’re lost, naught can be done for reason lost it’s way, 
and so we have to play along and live it, come what may.

The power struggle, won and lost for America has the guns, 
only one thing that we’re missing... Humanities slaughtered sons.

The Third tablet #6

The ease of our ride, it varies a lot
from where we are born to what we have got. 
From privilege or poverty fate rides on our choice, 
make the wrong ones and we’re slaves without voice. 
Like candles in the wind our choice is the breeze,
a warm cozy room or a doorstep to freeze. 
Some are so simple and others so hard,
but make them we must to stamp the time card.

They take us next step where another awaits, 
with experience gained our awareness inflates, 
broadening horizons expanding our mind, 
opening up options where prior none to find. 
It’s a cycle increasing, a spiral as such,
to where it is leading I cannot say much. 
In a way it gets easier, in other ways not, 
with so many choices, is there one we forgot? 
To check all the options, could be a good plan, 
don’t want to end up back where we began. 
Bit of a joke when we view it this way, 
but it’s life as we know it, so what can you say.

The Third Tablet #15

Emotional overload, when stress gets too much, 
be it work, lack of sleep or a feeling of rush.
Things don’t come together and ones focus is spent, 
energy levels fall and you don’t know where it went. 
Now it’s all gone, naught left but to cry,
then even that’s over and you’re left high and dry. 
Your head and heart ache and it hurts just to talk, 
best take a long break and go for a walk.

It’s painful to see and more so to live, 
when all of life’s obstacles get caught in the sieve. 
There’s no quick fix here, it’s a process in full, 
to reassemble your life and slide from the bull. 
A shoulder to cry on and an ear for to listen, 
step out of the way and see what is missing.

Check iron levels, make sure you eat well,
get enough sleep and call a close pal.
Take it all easy, but sort it all out,
if you just run away, the lumps will not melt.
They need thawing first, cook them straight they’ll get tough, 
so care for them slowly, one a day is enough.

Then in no time at all, the stress level’s down, 
you’re able to cope, smile replaces the frown. 
Still you can’t rush, even though you feel better, 
takes a lot of good words to finish a letter.

The Third Tablet #20

Untold mysteries held within, 
covered over, flesh to skin. 
Robotic movements, callous reply, 
sordid eyes, heady sky.

Tapered intent, collection made, 
another soul's will to fade, 
heavy burden carried far, 
house in progress, wiped out car.

Torrential rains, whipping foam, 
sunny disposition, will to roam, 
savage deception, falling in, 
sorry relations, hitting tin.

Corrupted judgment, sad reflection, 
mirrored stability, new election, 
wrought iron fist, bloody knuckles, 
toothy grin, belly chuckles.

Summers day, winter time, 
sinking smog, lemon, lime, 
full in blossom, autumn leaves, 
wind chills, heart bleeds.

The Third Tablet #22

Somersault spins, triangulate course, 
compress the facts, ride the horse,
loose the reigns and cut a key, 
now in this place it’s time to be.

A foreign lad in place of change, 
keep taught the rope, nothing’s strange, 
all a tad weird and so it must, 
there’s lots to break and grind to dust.

Skin the orange, sup the juice, 
bite the apple, let go recluse, 
come out spinning, dervish inside, 
spiral forth, enjoy the ride.

Bound to Begin #1

Racing with the rats, aim to be paid, 
providing a service, buy, sell or trade.
Office or warehouse, practice or care, 
florescent lights, conditioned air.

Calls for assistance, jobs to be done, 
sitting or walking, boring or fun.
Eight hours in one place or traveling to many, 
reading and typing, counting the penny.

Construction, promotion, market to share, 
take the goods with you, leave the cash here.
Another day another dollar, well...a hundred or more 
will keep us in food and our key to the door.

Bound to Begin #31

Whanau, the family, Mana measures the man, 
showing his wisdom and from whence he sprang.
His connection to nature, living life for the whole 
family of humans, the earth is his soul.

The clouds are his doubts, the trees are his limbs, 
with blue sky he cruises, in darkness he sins.
His veins are the rivers, the dirt is his flesh,
 the mountains his biceps, completing the mesh.

The fish and the livestock graze on his palm, 
roaming free on his body like hares on the farm.
The sun, inspiration, the stars are his dreams, 
the moon is his mission, from bloodshed he screams.

His consciousness, the people all living one life,
no future or past, the present is right.
His realm is the known, he relates with the free, 
sees all those in chains and sails with the breeze.

Greets new life with old for their soul is the same,
as themselves in the oneness, in sunshine or rain.
Thoughts are found thoughtless as action fuels life,
in movement he’s growing through good times and strife.

Together connected, alone in the same,
once here, you’ve elected to be as you came.
In layers relating, as pendulums we meet, 
from one to the other, own path at our feet.

I swing vine to vein, catching strands to let go, 
monkey king, human forest, connecting to know.

Bound to Begin #54

If I saw sheep as maggots
and cows as slugs,
I would be steaming along in a centipede 
and that house would be a mushroom.
The mountains, mere ant hills,
the trees but weeds,
the sun, a firefly
and the earth a piece of dirt under my shoe...

But because I see sheep as sheep
and cows as cows,
this is a train,
that was a house!
Mountains are mountains,
trees are trees,
the sun is sunny
and the earth is a piece of dirt under my shoe.

Bound to Begin #55

A collection of poems written late 1980s - early 1990s
recorded by myself and friends in the late 1990s

Not spilling my guts, just draining my mind,
showing all the confusion that life leaves behind.
Such a crazy existence as humans on earth!
We create our own environment and pave over the dirt.
Then in this new plain we make course to trade
with electronic funds and a spray can of Raid.

We dress to impress and hold our heads high, 
with no care for the earth we look to the sky. 
Entertainment rules, making money from nougat, 
no hands to the toil, just shine and stand out. 
Our differences vary, but blend in the same, 
as everyone is free to be totally insane.

Just one side of the story, for most of us care, 
It’s a big call to make but I hope you’re out there. 
Depends where we live the goals that we hold,
if it’s loving we live for or bills in the fold.
Who are we really or wanting to be, 
making sense of ourselves is a part of being free.

Finding comfort in self, being at home where we are, 
looking further within while our bodies go far, 
holding sacred our temple and well treating respect, 
keeping good in ourselves as the unfounded reject. 
Doing unto others as we would have for our own, 
understanding the whole and staying true to the bone.

So here it begins my relation to existence,
it’s a journey of meaning that covers some distance. 
So settle down cosy and turn the next page, 
there’s something for all, nomatter your age.
I hope you enjoy it, might inspire some thought, 
it’s a definite aim and how we are taught.

Been a long time coming in yet it prevails, 
like a slow moving train on the same set of rails.
We can see where it’s going, may have been there before, 
but this time it’s different coming out in a roar. 
Many steps along the way for relationship love,
a week’s worth of pay or a broken wing dove,
all taking their time and effort to solve,
these come full circle around and evolve.

Eventually though it all comes together, 
like making new friends, birds of a feather. 
Freedom to spend the time now at hand, 
coming down gently with will for to land, 
a peck at this and a pick at that, 
hugging a friend and patting the cat.

Many facets to cover some fairly set,
can’t cover them all: the blanket’s too wet,
for it shrinks with the water, grows heavy to hold, 
must put it all down now, my bones feeling old.

Putting out the fires that burn in my brain,
hoping these few lines stop me going insane, 
for I’ve been there before, don’t wish to go back, 
feeling good about life, finding sleep in the sack. 
These problems arise in a world full of man, 
I’ll shed light on a few, some more if I can.

Garetha01