Feelings: Will Cinderella Ever Go To The Ball
My biggest fear since I was small has
ever been fear of boring nothingness
I commiserated with the animals for
their confinement to the here and now
and their enslavement to nature’s cycles
desperately seeking my own escape
through mind- power and ethereal
thoughts, but today I realize BEING is
JOY –only I am bereft of that privilege
of joyful being through my allergy…
I’m so glad to know the goodness of
the universe, but my question is
why was I born without the ability
to enjoy being ‘per se’, confined
to discomfort and pain – why was
I left out of everything? And will
this Cinderella ever get to go
to the ball?
poem by Margaret Alice
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Sweetness of Love 8.22.2008
Education in beauty is the most important
part of our earthly lives, yet it is not the eye,
but the soul that sees – when we look with
the immortal spirit, we shall discern the
difference between beauty and ugliness
Beauty is found in melody, in happy chaos
based on underlying structures; discordant
sounds made randomly becomes a cacophony
representing hellish punishments, listening
to certain kinds of modern music
Creates a wish to return to the soothing sounds
of the classics; all things beautiful follow the
magic of the Golden Section, proportion is
everything, the sweetness of love confers
the above attributes to everyone…
poem by Margaret Alice
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Kebra Nagast – Ark of the Covenant
A new Mystery for Me:
The Ethiopian Queen known as Queen Makeda
came to visit King Solomon of Israel
we read in Chapter 25 of the ancient
Ethiopian Epic Kebra Nagast
King Solomon sent her home
with the gift of half his kingdom
carried through the night
as swift as an eagle in his flight
On Solomon’s secret Flying Machine
afterwards she gave birth to his son
known as King Menelik
who returned to King Solomon
In his Flying Aircraft
to carry off the Ark of the
Covenant to its final
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poem by Margaret Alice
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2010/04/23 Velvet
In honour of autumn I bought yellowing leaves
to replace the pink blooms of spring adorning
the screen of my computer, the crystal heart
and flower acquired new meaning
Seemed more appropriate than before, it feels
so good to align with the seasons, to be in
harmony with nature, though the air-con
technicians have a different opinion
In summer they kept the temperature below
zero, we needed warm fleeces to work, now
things are heating up, the tie between man-
kind and nature is broken in the office
But I bring in my own link, feel the passion
of autumn surge in my breast, filled with
nostalgia by the bronzing autumn sun
warming my skin with velvet kisses
poem by Margaret Alice
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The Thistle’s Offer
...........A Fairytale
The King and Queen were sad, they had
no children, so the willow tree, led by a
thistle, weaved a crib in which the thistle
buried herself and died, the King and Queen
found a baby within – who became their
heart’s delight, they closed off the garden
from all outside, keeping the princess safe
from other children until thistles took over
the garden, children were called in to pick
them – and the princess disappeared, her
job done, the King and Queen loved all the
children of their kingdom instead – But
why, I cried, did the princess have to
disappear?
Vivian French “The Thistle Princess and other
Stories” Walker Books 1995
poem by Margaret Alice
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Nile Crocodile In The Sunshine
The Nile Crocodile
needs to lie in the sun
to digest her
crocodilean breakfast
and longs for a swim
in the cool blue water
though it is winter
in Crocodile country
the evergreen leaves
sparkle with drops of diamond
in winter’s silvery sun
sky shining in brilliant blue
the Nile Crocodile
lies in the sunshine
warming her cold-blooded skin
guilty as ever
for not checking the kids
or helping with homework
leaving the kitchen
in a state of horror
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poem by Margaret Alice
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I’m A Rogue
I’m a rogue who likes to prorogue any
routine job because I know, tomorrow
I will stop procrastinating, if I should do
everything today, what on earth would
I do another day
Some people may think postponement
should not be condoned; but it gives me
time to assemble my thoughts, sip a little
wine, reflect on la dolce vita, and as soon
as inspiration
Springs spontaneously, this rogue tackles
her work without prorogue, enjoying a merci-
less march through the dry marshes of her
boring documents, until she reaches the
satisfying end
And throttles back again, back to reflective
cruising mode, ready to prorogue in the same
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poem by Margaret Alice
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A Blow For The Manifesto…
Enough food is produced to feed the whole world,
Africa included, but it cannot be distributed, infrasystem
and political power is non-existent, politicians usurp
foreign aid, police ordered to control an election aren’t
paid because corrupt politicians pocket their money,
police have to bribe and steal to eat
There is enough food, Europe has to destroy surplus
production – distribution to needy nations is too costly
and well-nigh impossible in Africa, like Ethiopia where
stockpiling weapons and bad policies are guaranteed
to create a starving population that simply breed more
kids as fodder for political machinations -
What a terrible blow for the
Human Rights Manifesto…
poem by Margaret Alice
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Dad - Stated In Letters Of Gold
I’m deeply touched by a situation
I’m helpless to change – but firmly
convinced that the story of the
intrigue against my father
must one day be
revealed
My father WILL be vindicated one day
I shall keep on formulating his story
until it becomes stated in letters
of gold and his unselfish spirit
undying love and unique
brand of eccentric
integrity
will prevail over my mother’s mercenary
religious conniving and refinement
in using of him and his family
I started reading the book
of my father’s life about
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poem by Margaret Alice
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Leave The State of Nirvana
You slay me - my eyes have gone
right out of focus and my mind has
changed into a pulp of sweet, happy
jelly emitting glimmer and shine -
I cannot work like this; I feel
like a soap bubble shimmering with
rainbows - glittering everywhere; I
feel like a fairy floating about -
a sprite dancing for joy - how shall
I find power to leave this state of
nirvana and return to cold-blooded
left-brain consciousness
to do my work - to focus my mind
like a laser-beam on duties and
responsibilities - Can a fairy turn
into an ant?
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poem by Margaret Alice
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