Случаются иногда в жизни чудеса... судьба часто дарит нам подарки, важно их не пропустить в бесконечной суматохе дней... Одним из таких подарков является встреча человека близкого тебе по духу и не важно при этом сколько тысяч километров вас с этим человеком разделяет, в какой стране он живет и на каком языке разговаривает... Для человеческой Души не существует преград, есть только излучаемый ею свет и тепло, которые иногда заметны не только с другого континента, но и из космоса
В конце прошлого года моя Душа изрядно измотанная и опустошенная приметила вдалеке манящий огонек и полетела на свет... а исходил он, как ни странно с мрачного, тоскливого, вечно угрюмого и "слезливого" туманного альбиона... По мере приближения свет становился все более ярким и притягательным... Это светилась Душа, Душа музыканта, поэта, Душа тонко чувствующая, звучащая, видящая, не уставшая любоваться красотой этого мира, удивляться, способная делиться всем что у нее есть!!! Даже на расстоянии в тысячи миль от нее исходит такое тепло, способное растопить многолетнюю мерзлоту!!!
Обитает Душа в весьма симпатичном "Сосуде" и имеет человеческое имя - Gary... Иногда кажется, что это единственное, что объединяет его с человеческим родом, с обществом с его современными законами, взглядами, нравами... Душа, способная потеряться в своих мыслях и забыть о времени и днях недели, в глубинах которой рождаются мелодии и стихи, Душа, у которй есть собственный водоемчик с зеленым островком на крыше офисного здания... Душа, способная так разогреть курицу в микроволновке, что приходится эвакуировать верхние этажи офисного здания по пожарной тревоге...))) Такой вот он мой родной инопланетянин, мой любимый англичанин, Gary!!
'What You Are'
You are open, like a flower opens to the sun,
You are kind, like a Mother with an errant Son,
You are mine, the one, and only one.
You are wise, like the book upon the shelf,
You are giving, thinking not of yourself,
You are rich, without seeking wealth.
You are beautiful, like a rare and precious bird,
You are poetic, like the loveliest song ever heard,
You are creative, with every action, every word.
You are special, like the calling of the wind,
You are modest, wishing to play but not to win,
You are my World, the one I wish to live within.
'Where are you?'
In a World so diverse, so very full of magic, the sun rises. It comes over the crest of the horizon and spills its light, gently and with care, across that thin line of darkness and immediately illuminates all in its warm path. Life giving, indiscriminate, it runs its fingers through the dark and the cold and makes its presence felt.
But where are you? It’s a question that can be answered in a variety of ways depending, naturally, on where you think you are but are you ever really there?
After all, are you where you think you are? Are you exactly who and what you think you are?
We are carbon. We are children of the stars. You are me and I am you, isn’t it true?
Are you walking down a busy street as the light creeps over discarded cigarette packets and piles of unopened newspapers just waiting for vendors, bleary eyed, sort them for youths to deliver to breakfast devouring families?
Are you walking, alone and sleepy, down a meadow deep, making your way to the lower field?
Are you in a line, following and followed by a line of expectant travellers making your way to an early flight watching the sun’s rays hit the tarmac like fire catching on teflon?
Somewhere in this World, those self same rays have hit yellow earth, rocky and harsh and a lizard has scuttled from the newly formed shadow and found a place on slat stone where she can start to soak those precious rays immediately.
Somewhere, the sun has sent gleaming reflections of light from an iceberg that have danced and played on the lapping waters around it. Beautiful, exciting, seen by no eyes but beautiful all the same.
These things, as the sun rises and later as it falls, in all their exquisite and unique wonder, are parts of our souls.
Where are you? You are in me as I am in you. A kiss is only a message to ourselves. We are one. We miss one another because we know, whether we are in the same room or a thousand miles apart, that we are one and just now, for this brief life, we are separated. Let us watch the rising of the sun and the following of the moon that we shall be as one again, soon.
Song
'Just like you'
If I fell to pieces,
Would you pick me up?
If I was needy
Would you have enough?
Cos I’m just like anyone
Just like you
There are cracks
That I could fall through
Just like you
If I took to drinking
And couldn’t stop
Would you think me helpless
Or just a helpless slob?
Cos it’s a daily battle
Avoiding what I want
And we’re just like cattle
Can’t tell right from wrong
Just like you
At the top of your game
Or at the bottom of the chart
It’s more or less the same
You need the help of another heart
If I couldn’t stop crying
If my sorrow showed
Would you stay and comfort me
Or cross the road?
We’re not so different
We got our own load
And I would help you
I suppose
Just like you.
Song
'Me? '
I see us together
Sitting on the porch
Engrossed in one another
The neighbours
They pull things together
Conforming to the rules
Forever and forever
But we We do things differently
You see things they don’t see
I’m so proud of you
Others
thought that I was clowning
You knew I was drowning
And you threw me a rope
I Was falling far from living
You did all the giving
Of faith and love and hope
Us?
I see us together
Fearing nothing ever
Engrossed in one another
The light fades
And we go inside holding
The light that’s never fading
Sharing unto ourselves
Others
Thought that I was clowning
You knew I was drowning
And you threw me a rope
I Not falling now but floating
Happy in the knowing
That were the ones who chose
'The Tree'
Somewhere,
between a wish and a dream,
I chanced upon a miracle,
a strong,
wondrous tree.
We regarded each other,
in silence,
this fair tree and me.
And pondered for some time,
each for the other to see.
The tree was first obscured,
by faces familiar and true,
And this fair tree replaced them,
with what art I never knew.
"Look upon my fruit” the tree said,
and showed me through and through,
many things I had forgotten,
and some that were quite new.
The tree appeared to know,
through experience of time,
the things to make my blood rush,
and wish that they were mine.
I wondered on the roots,
how thick they were or fine,
Whether burrowed thick,
strong and deep,
or brittle like the vine.
But with each new wonder,
like nature,
my awe and respect simply grew,
I wanted to show my own treasure,
but by comparison ‘tis true,
'Children'
Children out the back
Making a hell of a noise
I don’t mind that.
Screeching and shouting
They got something to say
I don’t mind that.
My afternoon lasts for thirty minutes
Theirs lasts three long days
Everything is relative
These days
I sit in my recliner chair
They go to India
Over mountain tops
I don’t mind that.
I make myself a cup of tea
While they explore
Beneath the sea
I don’t mind that
I can’t make sense
Of what’s on the TV
The politician, trying to control me
I can’t park my car
I can’t get a break
My stomach is hurting
Each night I’m awake
I’m questioning
The nature of love
And who I am
And am I enough ?
I’m short of breath
Scared to death
Lacking success
Less than my best
But the children don’t mind that.
They get called inside
Have supper
And a bath Get a story
Feel warm and loved
And they don’t mind me.
'A Rose That Bloomed'
There's a place down where the wild grass grows, where flowers bloom, a single rose, It's colour now faded and it's stem now weak, but a thousand eye's have brushed it and if it could speak, it could tell a tale of a thousand nights passed, wherein it saw beauty unsurpassed, and of how people knelt to smell its perfume, when the world was new and it was a young bloom, and a miracle happens every now and again, and the rose, red as blood, is anew again.
'Abandoned Furniture'
This morning I passed abandoned furniture
A suite, complete, once a family seat,
In fairly good condition
With a pattern Pleasing to the eye
Now, dew kissed reject
Sodden and forgotten,
Used and of no value
Service done, eviction come.
No dog curled on the sofa,
No kids fighting for the recliner
Just a used Kentucky carton and some picked over bones
Nestling in an armchair
And the bright spring sunshine
Moving across the patterns
With only the slight breeze
Toying with the trees
Making the shadows dance
Worrying
The antimacassars
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