Tapestry Of Emotion

The path that all life treads,
are a tapestry’s linen threads,
and the eye of the needle,
are the hearts of all the people,
woven in and out of each other,
so we are all sisters and brothers,
in the weave of life’s pattern,
from the moment of the rising sun,
to the time of the twinkling stars,
we’re imprisoned in life’s aging bars.
If you could what thread would you use?
Yes, what path would you choose?
One of passion, heat and glory,
or one of pristine and noble sobriety,
so stop, look and listen,
to life’s pneumatic system,
confusing you with its instructions,
whilst you seek its seduction,
for life is all about emotion,
entangled in the world’s commotion,

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poem by Dale Mullock
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Holding On

There are times when you’re feeling down,
and the whole world is making you frown,
times when all hope appears to have gone,
and you no longer have the will to go on.
Teetering on the brink, wanting to end it all,
there seems to be nothing to catch your fall,
take another look; see your friends all around you,
holding true, especially when you’re cold and blue,
bringing you warmth and sunshine on a cloudy day,
along with love and laughter when the sky is grey.
So the summer is not over until the sun stops shining,
the day is not over until the moon comes out of hiding,
I’ll hold on to my faith, always believing,
so I won’t stop, I’ll keep on dreaming,
for all those around me, are forever keeping,
me holding on until my heart stops beating.

poem by Dale Mullock
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Angel Of My Heart

Your pretty chocolate brown eyes,
twinkle like the stars in the sky,
a smile growing on your face,
I take your hand and we embrace,
I flick back your jet-black hair,
as your lips tantalise and dare.

The angel of my heart is what you must be,
for heaven is where I am and you’ve come for me.

Held in my arms on a frosty hill,
close together to cull the winter chill,
so the warmth of our hearts,
melts away the snowy sparks,
like a single ray of sunshine,
had been cast here all the time.

The angel of my heart is what I can see,
for heaven is where I am and you’ve set me free.

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poem by Dale Mullock
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All Hail Breaks Loose

Mere mortals mill around all so panicky,
Whilst mountain top bubbles volcanically,
But bleak horizon weather stirs a good story,
Cloud shrouded Olympus spits its godly fury,
Hera shrieks name slander blunderdolt,
Zeus hurls godfire levin and thunderbolt,
Wife’s anguish and infidelity distress,
Husband caught again with another mistress,
Crunched teeth seethe, causing stormy behaviour,
Bellowed voice inhales cold condensed vapour,
Feminine wrath extirpates any chance of a truce,
Assailed thunderous inveigh is let loose,
Whipped up frosty voice unleashes a cold gale,
Showering mortal heads with heaven’s hail,
Zeus’ teeth knocked out of divine jaw,
And laid out cold upon Olympian floor,
Hera’s power-coiled fist, so sorely felt,
Left peasants wondering why the hail didn’t melt!

poem by Dale Mullock
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Eye Spy Fly

I spy with my eye,
A pesky little fly,
Passing me by,
To swat it I try.

As the fly picks up pace,
Around the house I race,
Continuing to chase,
Him all over the place.

This fly goes here and there,
Flying on without a care,
While my arms flap everywhere,
And hands beat at empty air.

Around the kitchen I do fumble,
As I run, I trip and stumble,
Over and over I tumble,
As the pots and pans crumble.

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poem by Dale Mullock
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My Reaper

As I stutter and stumble in the dark,
on this night so humble and stark,
I am overwhelmed by an eerie sensation,
my mind and body overcome by trepidation,
for my senses tell me something is near,
but silence is all that my ears do hear.

That silence is suddenly and uneasily broken,
by the creaking of a door swinging slowly open,
and in the shadows I can make out a shape,
from that figure there seems to be no escape,
for I am confronted by a dark and unnamed reaper,
a shade, a wraith or some other unearthly creature.

Gorgonised by fright, I do not move or run,
so paralysed am I, that my breath is held to ransom,
but wait, what is it that I can truly see,
besides the darkness, the demon and me,
my eyes blinking and lips smiling in realisation,
for it’s just a mirror and my phantasmic refection.

poem by Dale Mullock
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Contentment In Humidity (Velvet Girl)

In my bedroom soaking up the heat,
Swelteringly sweet in love’s velvet sheet,
Peachy sweat stroked skin my body’s only wear,
But I’m also draped in my girl’s love share,
Breath does rise and fall,
Stolen kiss does then call,
First planted on luscious lips,
Long tongues touch in tangles and clips,
Then her neck is to be love bitten,
For my mouth is certainly smitten,
Before slightly blushed cheeks,
Result from pecked chest peaks,
Silken sinuous epidermal slide,
To bellybutton my lissom lips glide,
Tantalising tummy tingling stomach smacker,
Followed by muffled hairline lick lacquer,
Causes such fevered cries,
And soft elongated sighs,
Womanly flavour savoured in sapidity,
Complete contentment in humidity,

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poem by Dale Mullock
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You'll Never Take Me Alive

The silent alarm has triggered a city wide
hunt for me, but in the shop’s shadows I reside.
Alert to the sound of nearing footsteps,
shuffling forward, oh so slowly I crept,
with gun raised, just waiting,
poised and silently anticipating
for the precise moment to pounce.
A gleaming law badge does announce
the time to cock back the pistol's hammer,
the bullet a one way ticket to the slammer.
I squeeze the chrome; the trigger's apparel,
Bang... an Iron Tiger released from the barrel,
it sinks its jaws in to an unsuspecting throat,
in that second of madness I do demote
myself to Hell and The Devil's atonement,
momentarily I am struck by astonishment
until I contemplate to make a break,
but the victim's partner makes no mistake
as I stand directly in his line of fire,
I'm cremated by his projectile's funeral pyre.

poem by Dale Mullock
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Everyday Movement

Everyday Movement

Millions of scattered translucent dewdrops,
mark many secluded and misty hilltops,
sparkling gems enchased on the flora,
waiting to be picked up by the morning’s aurora.

Lethargic clouds float in a cerulean sky,
climbing up and up onto a mountain high,
endlessly drifting in a cobalt coloured seamless stream,
rising out of Thunder’s reach into an afternoon dream.

A wild white stag darts between the trees,
following a faint scent; caught upon the breeze,
startled by evening thunder’s earthly laughter reprise,
It carelessly leaves a trademark trail for hunters to surmise.

Rolling surf rides the peaks of ocean waves,
the shining moon pulling reign so the crests’ behaves,
clammy crabs breach sandy beachheads; wary of stalkers,

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poem by Dale Mullock
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The Water's Edge

A clear lake, an eerie pool of misty white,
enchanted and enhanced by the moonlight,
with a shadowy silhouette of a weary wanderer,
enticed into a beautiful musical wonder,
simply captivated by a seductive siren’s song,
her crooning call stringing him along,
until he is by the water’s edge,
and to her, his soul, he does pledge,
snaring his encumbered essence,
with her alluring song and presence,
until the water surrounds his neck,
her arms around his shoulders, lips poised to peck,
an unrelenting inscape imbiber,
claiming his soul through sucking saliva,
leaving a hollow husk, an empty body,
floating in the lake waterlogged and soggy,
while his sodden soul sinks within the deep,
stolen by the siren to forever keep,
remembered only by hungry corpse fed fish,
that make echoing ripples upon the lake’s surface.

poem by Dale Mullock
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