MY CHRISTMAS WISHES

It is Christmas, a time when wishes can come true
I have wishes, and here are just a few
I wish for peace in every land
With every culture linked, hand in hand
I wish for the end of wars throughout the world
With the Rainbow flag of peace freely unfurled
I wish that Man could find a cure
For AIDS and Cancer that so many souls endure
I wish for a level playing field
Where the scars of disparity can be healed
I wish that terrorism becomes a thing of the past
No innocents suffering from indiscriminate bomb blast
I wish for an end to political corruption
Which waters the seed of moral destruction
I wish again that the world becomes one
With no battles of greed to be lost or won
Lastly I wish that at least one of my wishes comes true
And 2010 will be a better year for me and for you

Blind Faith (poem from story Son of a Farmer)

Still without children the farmer and wife
After many years of otherwise happy life
This a sorrow so hard to bear
Full of silent tearful despair

Every day when the farmer leaves for his field
His wife’s eyes with tears are filled
For from her window her eyes would dwell
Positioned there is the village well

Mothers fill their pitchers while their children play
There seated at the well like every other day
A young boy who was barely eight
Left by his Mother from dawn till late

This child, this poor wretched child
Sitting there so meek, and so mild
To his Mother he was just a bind
For he was totally profoundly blind

That night upon the farmers return
Wife said husband you know how we yearn
You know that child, that boy who is blind
We can adopt, I’m sure his mother won’t mind

But my wife my love he can not see
What good in our later life will he be
He has a heart husband of mine
He has a heart, let us be kind

Next morning he left for his field
Praying for a healthy, hearty yield
He left his wife with these words few
I love you wife, do what you have to do

Upon his return late at night
He was greeted by a wonderful sight
For there seated for him to see
He now had a completed family

This was a vision he’d held in his head
Ever since his wife and he had wed
A sight so wonderful to beguile
He showed his delight in his beaming smile

The first few years it was mother and son
The farmer said “to the field he must come”
He led his son then away
To the field for a working day

The farmer maybe long it the tooth
But he found this boy like many a youth
When it came to physical labour
He treated it with contempt and disfavour

So every day he sat on a boulder
While years past and he became older
Isolated, he was all alone
In some place, a world of his own

Then one morning the farmer woke late
A pain in his head and eyes that ache
Within just a matter of hours
He completely lost visual powers

The doctor said farmer my friend
For your sight this is the end
And the farmer he took to crying
He felt he would be better off dying

He started sitting at the well every day
For he could not think of any way
To keep his family feeding
While his heart was constantly bleeding

Then some weeks later
His son approached and said Pater
I don’t want your heart to bleed
Take my hand and I will lead

So on the trek they would start
As he had learnt the route by heart
And as this journey ended
The farmer realised his field had been well tended

From that day to the present
Through good times and the unpleasant
Farmer and son have worked hand in hand
Sowing and reaping their small piece of land

Now you must learn to know
With love and the seeds that you sow
You will most definitely find
That the blind can surely lead the blind

The Artist and His Muse

He is no longer an artist who has no name
His paintings adorn walls, he has his fame
Today he will commence his last and final piece
She is but a model, earning meagre fees
A young girl of beauty, just twenty years old
She is quickly posed upon a luxurious throw of gold

He, behind his easel, his canvas tightly stretched
He gazes on her face, where he sees her beauty etched
Palette in his left hand and brush in his right
Working out perspective in the ambient light
Pause a while, thinking, taking in the scene
Grateful that he had been sent such wonderful queen

Brush caressing the canvas like a gentle summer breeze
Depicting her contours with deft accomplished ease
Her deep brown hair of gleaming silken curls
Her eyes as wondrous as rarely seen black pearls
Her full lips with a warm honeysuckle smile
Her neck her shoulders, all wonders to beguile

He pauses once again, a required and thoughtful rest
Before he continues outlining her rounded alabaster breast
Her hourglass waist, her legs so elegantly slender
His brush, as if it also knew of this girls great splendour
Would glide and dance with magical unguided ease
As every contour, every curve it would lovingly tease

The time came and when his work was complete
He covered it with a pure white veil and took a seat
“Sir can I please see the fruits of your labour?”
Yes my dear, I hope that it meets with your favour
As she lifted the veil for the first expose
Her honeysuckle smile became an opening rose

But Sir have I not been your inspiration?
Is this a joke, or a cruel aberration
This canvas is blank, no oils have left your brush
Her cheeks already pink, but now a deep anger blush
Sir you will have to explain this to me
As there is nothing here for me to see

My dear sit down and I will tell you true
From the moment my eyes had gazed upon you
I knew that no artist living or long dead
Could do justice to the beauty that I saw on that golden bed
This is a creation of yours not mine
Please take this brush and in the corner sign

With my paintless brush, my mind I have trained
I am so much richer with the joy that I’ve gained
My head no longer has an empty space
For you have filled a void in this place
You have made my artistic quest complete
My gratitude I humbly lay at your feet

I now have a masterpiece that only I can see
It will now be the most precious painting to me
For this canvas and the palette of my mind
With every viewing I will surely find
The true and faithful image that today I have seen
With this, no longer will I have the need to dream

©Ray Gorringe 2009

Just Walking

Many years ago, when I was quite young
My life seemed to be lived on the run
With something new around every bend
Trying to keep up with the latest trend
Now I am much older, and wiser they say
I tend to live my life from day to day
So now I just walk, slowed down my pace
Realising life is not a winning race
I’m walking, just walking towards my end
For this could be just around the next bend
Turn left, turn right or go straight on
Not forgetting where I started from
The final destination no one really knows
The journey will have had its highs and its lows
I hope and I pray that my legs will carry me
For at this time, the end I can not see
When this end for me, does come into view
I will be content at being one of the lucky few
Assured in the knowledge that after the pain
I will be ready to start my journey all over again

To Be Or Knot To Be

Do not forget to remember
My Mother said to me
Remember what I asked
Nothing she said
Just don’t forget

On my walk to school
I had these words in my head
Could not work it out
Just did not see
Remember to forget?

Forget to remember
Do not remember
Or do not forget
Should I remember
Or should I forget?

By the time I reached my school
I had three knots in my tie
One to remember
One to forget
And one to remember to forget

At lunch I was looking at my tie
Which knot was for remember
Which Knot was for forget
So I tied another one
Just so I would not forget

When I got home that afternoon
My mother said to me
“Did you remember what I said”
Yes I think so Mother, I tied knots in my tie
And where have you left your tie? Was her reply.

Same Old Day

It’s just another same old day
In cold and damp middle England
Another day when the sun has forgotten to shine
And the rain is almost snow

The birds are not singing in the nearby trees
As if they had not bothered to wake at all
And the only sound that can be heard
Is the wind through a leafless bough

It seems the same every day
Don’t want to move at all
It’s that time, it is expected
Pleading eyes say “it has to be now”

The Dog, he needs his walk
He knows as you approach
The door to the outside world
With boots and gloves in a row

Walk for just about a mile
While the dog he does two
Jumping through hedges
To bark at a local cow

Home with his hair wet and muddy
It’s time to run the bath
Greeted at the door by the Cat
With a plaintive meow

Tomorrows just another day
In cold and damp middle England
Another day when the sun will have forgotten to shine
And the rain just maybe snow

Not Living

Peroxide blonde
With manganese eyes
Inhaling saltpetre
Through nicotine lies
Ethanol induced stupor
Alcohol Highs
Indian ink
Self mutilation cries
Amphetamine images
Coloured clouds in the skies
One last snort of cocaine
The streets to pay the price
There is no living
Before she dies