One Day A Year

One day a year
we must
It will drift our way
One day a year
we need
It will shift our pay
One day a year
days will ask, and task
One day a year
the reason for our season
must bark and bite
One day soon-year
no season will buy our reason
or tarry in vain...

Mark your day soon you can
and hack their company
though high they be
Task your means noon the way
backing your meaning
though low you be
For, in the season of high reason
prisons be many
prisms be canny
schisms be candy
And, as the crimson mean no more
we watch the manner of all clan...

See the banter, see the bite
I won't say
See the butter, see the bug
I won't say
Yes, the taper rolls along
rocking a million names unread:
A soul, a toll
Yet, the music flows by show
blocking a million souls in tow
A name, a shame
Tick the clutter, tick the cut
I won't say
Burn the matter, buy the mat
I won't say

One day a year
no one be free, no land be lone
For, if tomorrow speaks at noon
and they say it be too soon
leave me my day
heave them the hay-
to smash the season as clay
Then say to them, by force of Sage:
Go on if fun
Mock on all pun
Willy nilly, oh dreamer
reasons be way, and reasons be pay!


If you take a tour and its twin detour as flesh and breath, you shouldn't be dribbled by the true need for "inward-looking" these days. So much at play, too much at stake.

Don't look far. Start from home, your own base. Check friends and colleagues. Examine faith and its fatalists. Read the news. Go online. And get out and about. What do you find?

Though I said I won't say, you bet we be all sucked into the seasons no matter our reason. And, sooner than later, we must speak for self.

Half-Way Round The World

An unlikely trip holds it trick
Many won't dare a kick
An uneven day holds its pick
Many won't dare the thick
So we savour an apple
leaving out a grape
And we yearn
So we tire in earnest
dreading all the miles
But we yearn
There is an Anne to watch
who be show but steel
She made the trip

Crisis zones had their Christ
weary souls their Prophets
Kids in streets sans kits
Hate by rote sans rites
She sees right in rights
will write it for might
Then the call...a call
round the world, half a world away
Then the chat...a chat
all the way, half a world away

This is the business of love
a show...a trick... and its pick
Trust her to have a ball of all
and all balls, both in play...and thrill
It is her day. All hail


My humble tribute to an Australian soul who plunged her good heart into development and charity work, including to North Africa. She would not be scared or deterred. Not by colour. Not by creed. What a soul, these days!

Christine Ann Hogan....celebrated veteran journalist, writer, public speaker, gender and youth crusader, lover of all tongues, and more...

All hail my friend!

DARING...

Gold be won, be lost, on time
Yet a plumber plucks his due
Bold your manner, not the mould
and surrender when lose:
No time is given, all time be bought
You must feed to heed
and may reap low pay
Take the lead

Long be the shadows of hate
as be the pleasure of gold
Long be the worry in town
as be the honour of gown
Go for gold

Wake each morn
dare not to mourn
Bake each meal
dare on to heal
For in its fullness, dear trudger
time, same time, will
deal you the heal
cut through their hill
and hand you sure deal
The heal this time be solid gold

I got this challenge from Nairobi, Kenya. How can we dare in a daring world? My answer: How can we not DARE in a world of permanent daring? I don't know how not to dare! Know it or not, we are all in the life of daring. Play it or not, we are stuck in the game of darers. So, do bother.

As for me, count all you can, dare me to mount, and I'm game anyday. Is daring risk, risky or risking? Hey, who's asking....just hear the Sage: Nothing ventured, nothing gained!

In making and building a better world, we must hear-tear-n-bear. The Sage to all FEARERS: No risk, no reward!

Still asking? I'm off!

Prose of Life

Tell me the tales
as lores
Yarn me the hints
on moon-night...
Da Prose of Life
Counting aloud may hurt
but do it
Mounting the high may harm
but do it
The fallow between be the gem of awe
tread it
Da Song of Life
The shallow will dread
and follow cheap leads
The complex will read
and borrow tough leads
Da Prose of Life
Soon, there will be dreams
Noon, there will be screams
One for fools
the other by fools
Da Song of Life
Which way each day is cast in poems
foretold in lores
retold in plays
by a million tongues
Da Zing of Life
Which day each way is cast in prose
foretold in robes
resold in trays
by a thousand souls
Da Ting of Time
Then, willy nilly, we all return to life
as though the world be torn
be worn
or won
What a prosey world!


My friend from Poland-Germany, and master of words, brings this envelope of thoughts quite pungently: Oh, it's the prose of life, my friend!

The more I've toyed with it, the richer...the riskier it whisks. In the philological streams it oozes, I found the world waltzing aloud, dancing on tales. Alas, we all burn the stakes sometimes...not telling, not counting, not kneading! And then we demur.

Even tonight, I can't help but dream. Tough aloud. Yes, dear friend.....It's the prose of life!!!

Tempt Me

Up there, tonight, I see my ring
baying for space, my place
Down here, tonight, I wring
saying to force the pace
So, tempt me, dear star
and mark my reach
Oh, tempt me, tonight...
See if I'll fly, or fall
by dawn
Smart, dearie star
break not the bond


Our hold on life is lower than time. Yet we seem to reach for time! My dialogue with time showed me a million things unkind, and a zillion kinds of things. Why bother? Ha!

From that hedge-line many moons ago, I had sent my ring ahead. It must shuffle and ruffle all things up there, so I can find both my day and my stay. Once done, my pay be higher than stars.

There should be no asking....just tasking. Find me the space...then watch my PACE!

There Shall Be Plenty, Again

Deep though our losses sound
a 'morrow stands guard again
Dim though our outlook squint
a 'morrow springs guide anew
Fight, if now we wish
No!
Might, all now we dish
No!
Stand firm to silly bites
squint wide in sunny blight
And your 'morrow be due

The 'morrow be no platter
nor splatter
It be a field to plant
and a season by moon
The 'morrow be no scatter
but matter
It be the scanty-a-past
and the many-a-come
The 'morrow, this 'morrow be no "better sans bitter"
It be our due so wide:
Same pain, more strain
new drains, old stains
It be a trudging anew!

But, listen, dear hewer
the bang be the barn
the sweat spring da fields
And it shall be plenty again!


My friend lost lots of money, and her publishing business. I didn't know at all. But the clever soul went in search of the most precious gem after the stumble: knowledge. How time flies!

As she prepares to face the harsh business world again, I had this verse for her. Oh, need you ask? Of course the words and my heart reach out to all you folks out there who are in same or similar bind. Get it out of ya system! And go for it, anew and renewed!! It will be greener in due time....in your time. Well, I know.

Time's Fare

Time this day makes me a day
Time this way makes me to stay
Time, if you be fair, gives say and pay
And time, dear weaver, makes hay all day

To be alone and stray as clone
be no matter, strange clutter
To bond with time and stray as prey
be slow matter so utter
Stay, if you care, and dare
You may shatter the blaster
Stay, when you dare, and care
You will master the matter

For in time - so precious -
lines will pull and pool, for gain
And the clutter - so utter -
will be your precious fare, again


This is for them souls that have either given up or are verging on such hint. Don't! Will it be that easy? Hell, no! Can we guarantee a quick turn-around? Same no! But in this business of despair and deceit, only those that damn them ruts will ultimately rout the "dregs & stench". Yes!

Tough business, then? Heavens, yes! Soak those lines, again.

Pieces of Peace

See peace floating as we foam
from lips to ears
Hear peace sighing as we drip
from limbs to hearts
Eye it on high
Ear down its high
It abounds in bits....No trip

If the pieces were hiding
I'll blame the stars
If its shimmers were deadened
I'll slam the Sage
But alas dear worrior
why will your helmet fail
Alas oh hector
why will your heeding trail
I see them pieces jostling aloud
for a hero's pick
I hear them shrapnels quizzing of us
for a moment's awe
Pray, why blast the peace

These pieces will stay, damn the frail
no matter post
These queries will last, damn the high
whatever we post
And in the day it matters most
we may all be ghost
of the golden sea...save we gather
them pieces as float


This is not the preachment of yore. This is the pointing to facts and fiction - depending on where you perch or berth. With the hawks or the doves? Our world is drifting and our planet be adrift. So adrift we can have no better "salmon or serpent" than this choose-ya-world offering as we contemplate the horrors of 7/7 today. May we act right all soon.

Since we be all in same boat - float or bloat - I wonder what it be. Preachment, damn it! And why not?!