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And the Cosmic Dance goes on Forever...






Graeme Winton

(version 2)




























© copyright Graeme Winton 2019


Falling Leaves


Winter's approach with darkening skies

bring a biting cold and an icy reprise.

The winds from the North a freezing chase

none in this land are keen to embrace.


Falling leaves bring sorrow untold

of summer forever gone from mind and fold.

Dark flows through every crevice across the land

chasing the light off this land of soil and sand.


Fleeting shadows roam unbound

as candle light flickers without a sound.

A bang in the night brings fear to most

and thoughts turn to an unwanted previous host.


Falling leaves bring on a season of dreams

of sunny days spent walking by babbling streams.

To run through fields of brilliant green

before thoughts of winter return unseen.


The spindly branches of trees in the moon silhouette.

Icy winds across the land do pirouette

and rattle on your door as you lie in the warm

protected by bricks and mortar, though your thoughts are forlorn


Falling leaves, when the sands of time run low

and another year begins to fade and go.

For men and women folk alike the years do stack

and for all, alas, there is no way back






















Winter days so short soon pass to night

where a chill dark wave flows o'er the land

creeping into crevice and hollow, the light to chase

controlled alas by no man's hand.


Street lights glow and push the dark away;

a small repose in an eternity of black.

To try to escape would be an insanity

for if light be found, soon to the dark you're drawn back.


Silent and cold, dark seeps under door and through window.

Across bridge and headstone the liquid form covers all.

Dark suffocates and engulfs the unwary mind

as shadows dance o'er floor and leap o'er wall.


Peace lies o'er the graveyard as dark creeps up

and scales the gate, for between the headstones to flow.

Around the ancient mausoleum nothing left untouched

The light can only run from this natural foe.
































Blossom Trees


The pearlescent sky lies o'er the town

as I climb high on Boulzie Hill for the sea to gaze.

The peal of church bell breaks the Sunday peace,

as No 5's dark windows take me back to childhood days.


Dreams of summer morns running across the park

and further back to blossom trees,

fill my mind and chase away the dark.

I start to feel the ancient breeze


Innocent days now long gone

I'd lie on soft grass and upward stare,

up past the tips of stately trees

up toward the heavenly glare.


I dream of blossom trees so far off;

back in mind to a long lost glory.

An astral traveller back for a spell?

Not a dream, but a long lost memory.


































Past life calls to you

from beyond rebirth.

For a fleeting moment

you look back for what it's worth.


Long lost friends are waving,

they linger then move away.

You reach out, but they're gone

beyond the veils of yesterday.


The dream world seems so real

could it be the memories of another world?

Or just a brief escape

from this life through which we hurl.


Live in the present is the cry,

but ghosts from the past do call.

Echoes from your childhood and beyond

creep up and steal a moment from all.































Have I Been Here Before?


I gaze up to the hazy blue of a summer sky

and then out across green land to the sea and more.

Memories of this sun-lit place hover just beyond my grasp.

Or are they dreams? Have I been here before?


The lay of the land, the sway of the trees in the wind,

rolling thunder in the night and the rattle of rain on my door.

All things I have seen and heard, it seems, from centuries past.

But I don't know. Have I been here before?


Seasons which change as day turns to night,

the chuckle of a friend immersed in folk-lore

and a friendly smile from someone on the street

make me feel like I have been here before.


Bird song so sweet and so pure on a warm summer's eve.

The star-lit sky, the glow of the moon are all in my core.

A loving caress, the beat of a heart, a shadow that passes

my window at dawn. Have I been here before?


The trees in spring blossom remind of a place

in spirit I have been and returned once more.

I breathe the air, feel the gentle breeze on my face.

And I have to ask: Have I been here before?



























A Brief Moment in Time


Illusion, illusion it's hard to believe;

the material world is solid to the touch!

A testing ground for souls to retrieve

their spiritual path to the infinite and such!


When revealed, normal life seems to fade

into a background maze of the ethereal.

But, through the mire we wade

in search of, well... material.


So much for when we were little...

stick in at school; get a trade lad!

No time for questions of this world of the brittle

like: what's it all about? Have we been had?


Perhaps there's nothing to discover

So, when you can find no reason or rhyme...

lets raise a glass here together

to a brief moment in time.
































Dark Gothic


A house silent in the light of day

begins to creak and groan by night.

Shivers climb my back as a door

opens itself on the edge of my sight.


Flickering candles in ancient rooms

illuminate old faces in panels of wood.

Moonlight lands on dusty rugs

as the phantoms appear to walk and brood.


Howling wind; a banshee's scream.

Shadows that creep...

through a moonlight beam

and into my mind will give me no sleep.

I hum a nervous tune

to fill the room with sound

but fluttering curtains in the dark

doth make my heart start to pound.

Under sombre skies, the dark land lies.

Out I gaze and dream of better days

A lightning flash; a thunder crack!

How I long to feel the warm sun's rays.




























Litter, litter everywhere;

does anyone really care?

Dog excrement here and there.

If you walk out you need to beware!


When I was young I was told

a kick in the back-side would unfold

if a sweetie paper I cast to the wind

was not picked up and thrown in the bin.


What's changed I hear you say?

Respect is missing from many today.

Generations subjected to moral decay,

and a careless attitude come to play.

So, pick it up you and me

keep the plastic out of the sea.

Clean it up; clean up our world

and you never know what can unfurl.


































As another year doth wane

and the sun's grip grows weak

thoughts turn to winter's cold approach

with V's in the sky and lum's that reek.


Gates bang in frosty winds

as ice creeps down building and rise.

Ruddy faces before a roaring fire do sit;

snug from snowbound nights and starry skies.


For most an idea of winter from the past

the reality will be of fogs spreading wide

and damp seeping into wood and flesh alike.

From this malaise there is no place to hide.

The return of the light-a pressure release

as the sun lengthens our perception of day.

The clock to put forward, for some a great joy;

for others another year of this illusion we play.
































What's This All About


Cars everywhere, congesting the planet

Drive-in this; drive-in that.

Anyway where's everybody going?

No time to walk, lets all get fat


Flickering screens in an empty room;

churning box washing yesterdays clothes.

Younsters engrossed in phones that chatter

there's a darkness in all this, which grows


What's this all about?

Money, money they say...

we need money to survive!

But, with faith, the Lord will care for us every day

Adverts which stick in our minds...

get a bigger house; buy a faster car-why?

I look up, there's metal in the air.

Aargh! It's enough to make you cry!


Dark manipulation of the Industrial Revolution






























The Cosmic Dance Goes On Forever


Every morn the streets come alive

walking, talking always moving.

Cars that buzz like bees round a hive.

The cosmic dance goes on forever...


The 'off to workers' rush past one another.

Shop opens; shop closes same time every day.

No time to waste; there's money to gather.

The cosmic dance goes on forever...


Sun rise; sun set, tide in; tide out.

Moon spins round the Earth

and we spin round about.

The cosmic dance goes on forever...


Season into season the years go by.

Birth and death; we pass from life to life.

Escape this jaunt... dare we try!

The cosmic dance goes on forever...































Chasing Mammon


Everyday you work dawn to dusk

the Material World the master you serve.

Soon your soul will be but a husk

you never let up; you always complain.


Illusion, illusion-the material plane

you need money for that house in Spain.

If you let it... it will make you insane

turn your world around; wash you down the drain.


Work harder, they need more tax

pay for that rubbish your forced to accept

Work don't think; work don't relax

1984 ain't no dream...


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