2010/07/15 Inner Peace
What is happening is not important, eight
storylines, context and presentation make
all the difference in a sunshine world of
translucent blue
People with velvet eyes, music playing, a
narrator adding multifarious dimensions
and the moments happening quietly for
people with happy smiles
Time-travelling for a young boy, lovely
discovery of solitude, the means to inner
peace meditating on the qualities
of godliness
The world is a noisy and busy place, a stimulant
I need time to analyse these impressions, words
rolling on without singing a song in papers
marching before my eyes
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poem by Margaret Alice
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Passing On Pain To The Next One In Line 5.17.2008
Pain is a strange companion, according to Charlotte
Bronte pain is a scorpion to be squeezed in the hand
until it goes numb so as to deaden the pain that does
not go away by itself
Doesn’t matter how I order my life, I have to traverse
cycles of pain, for energy we have to eat, when I eat
I am ill, when I don’t the pain goes away, as well as
the power to survive
Balancing between waxing and waning cycles of pain,
we chose our lives before we were born, my soul chose
suffering to understand life, the pain of people who seem
so arrogant
But underneath hearts are burning with feelings aflame,
emotions sprouting from scarring thoughts destroying
perspective and life, bewildered eyes chilling my soul,
hardened mouths
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poem by Margaret Alice
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I Am Your Delight
Thursday 2 October 2008
A white-frosted sea, the frosting
goes on and on, crests of white
everywhere, glistening rocks lining
the beach, white frosting on marine
blue – a sea too beautiful to leave;
how do we turn back to the inland
spot where we have to live?
Waves in long, parallel lines, bluish
white, whispering, Come back to me,
the sea’s bridal gown more resplendent
than before, the groom’s voice more re-
sonant, whispering Come to me, I am
your delight; a symphony of cascading
lace, communing with the sea
In a new dimension; the sun hiding
behind a cloud, the cold wind giving
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poem by Margaret Alice
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Undercover Depression (Rev.)
9 October 2008
suffering undercover depression
hiding negative feelings
attempts at joie de vivre
failing hideously, talking
around and away from
the overwhelming distress
packing Swiss Mission
documents separately creates
a terrible mess, can’t track
and match translations
to original texts
can’t fix the problem
feeling fear growing
fleeing is moral cowardice
how to tackle the problem tomorrow
desperately seeking solutions
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poem by Margaret Alice
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2010/08/05 Sweet Laughter
They looked up, Alligator and Crocodile,
and saw the most beautiful face smiling
at them, the lovely face of the rain queen
softly laughing, they heard the copper rings
clanging on the queen’s dancing feet, they
heard her sweet laughter within the weather’s
rumbling, she slowly advanced, spreading the
grey blanket of her life-giving veil, spun of clouds
thick and blue, building to purple and black, gone
was the sun, its fiery hue quenched by clouds
rolling on, and softly, mischievously, the rain
spread its mists as the rain queen danced
demurely at first, then wilder and wilder, more exciting,
enticing, Alligator and Crocodile joined in the dance, the
little folk of the plains, everyone, joined in the dance
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poem by Margaret Alice
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16.07.2009 Sparkles In The Air (Rev.)
Wise and magical as Nanny Ogg and Granny
Weatherwax are Hanlie and June concocting
magical forms that do sums in proof of what
we’ve done so preparing a production sheet
becomes a breeze
It’s as good as having Hogwart’s Sorting Hat on
my head, the form reads my mind and gives me
answers telling my life, June showed me how
to gain more time for translations, Hanlie gave
me leave to do more research
Forgetting magic requires special treatment
Jane destroyed the form without respect; the
magical form inspired me to new agricultural
heights, safe within the form’s woven web
calculating fun allotted everyone
sparkles in the air, joy in the office – brought
about by our two local witches, June Ogg and
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poem by Margaret Alice
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Songs Sing 05/11/2009
I love my family, I love my kids, I love
seeing their faces and hearing their
voices and holding them
I love hubby and all his schemes and
his plans for improvement and the way
he forgives
I love my mother and her hare-brained
ideas, I love my father and his notes
and his songs
I love my sister and her belligerence, I
love my poet friend who creates dreams
fragile and sweet
I love my colleagues who work so valiantly
design new forms and always help me to
conquer my fears
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poem by Margaret Alice
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2010/06/18 Simile (Rev.)
I love ancient minds, the grandiose
thoughts of bygone tale-tellers, their
sense of awe, infusing all they saw
with supernatural significance and
deeper meaning
I share their cosmological delight in
a machine too vast for mankind to
penetrate or understand, reject their
helplessness and despair in a
mystifying universe
To succor my belief I NEED a kind
intelligence as creative origin of all that
exist, ideas of malevolence as creation
kills my spirit; though I cannot
breathe in materialism,
the thin, cold air of cynicism, nor feel
joy in small three-dimensional reality
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poem by Margaret Alice
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2011/04/14 Without Intervening Events (Rev.)
Nothing to say in my defence, no material offers to
make amends; inner power enables me to mostly
balance on the edge of the abyss - wishing life’s
battle ended so I could rest, dropp my vigilance,
exist just as pure consciousness without shame
of eternal failure
Less intelligence all I cherish are feelings, a loving
atmosphere, strong emotions, everlasting joy of
constructing an ethereal bubble where I am safe,
free to create my own dreams since the sharp lines,
garish colours and grating sounds of reality cannot
match luminous beauty of my visions
Nothing I visualise can be realised in holographic
three-dimensional reality perceived through five
senses, only stories entailed in narrative imperative
are honoured and valued - attempts to infuse reality
with meaning lead to deception, failure and rejection,
I keep my ideas above and beyond...
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poem by Margaret Alice
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Concept Of Pain (Rev.)
I have not mastered the concept of pain,
I always think I have,
but the pain comes again and I don’t
know how to suffer with grace,
noises irritate
under the duress of pain I feel ugly
and mean, I wander through the house,
pulling things apart,
feeling sorry for myself,
caught in forked lightning racking my brain
I want to tell all metaphysical forces again:
Pain is NOT an ennobling experience,
to all religions I bring a message:
Pain is futile, I do not subscribe
to the theory that suffering
is God’s will for humanity
Pain robs us of all ability to think
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poem by Margaret Alice
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