Celestial Orchestration

celestial orchestration worked out
all to satisfaction: Monday the
monster machine ate my credit card,
Friday I received a new one
just in time to pay the physiotherapist
who sent an invoice by SMS claiming damages
for the few precious moments
I was allowed to experience the bliss
of his youthful enthusiasm
for fixing aching patients

Now I am to pay for every sparkle
in his innocent blue eyes, ah, the
fate of life - every little service
comes at a pre-set price, but
I am not complaining,
sitting on the very expensive pillow
I bought from His gracious Lordship
I have indeed less backache
than before, therefore

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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Long-Left Wide Step

Failed to find meaning in my
immediate surrounds; 1-2-3,
a-1-2-3, I went down the street,
usual music not speaking to me

Thought of my dad, cowboy hat on
his head, playing his music - Chris
Blignaut singing the song of a hapless
baboon, a bully-beef can with ants

His wireless for greeting his tribe, no tax
to pay, he sings - the can's too tight, his
face is stuck, the ants bite him, the baboon
goes mad - we stared with shiny eyes

As the chaos was described - and I sing
along with the song as I long-left wide
step 1-2-3- down the street, happy in
a cloud of memory - the beauty

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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Leitmotiv

A beauty that mesmerises, a description of a trip
a stream cascading melodiously with a wonderful
beat, so beautiful, it hurts - why does true beauty
inflict a feeling of hurt - at least for me?

Maybe because of my irrational desire to become
part of it and I cannot, especially of visual beauty
which used to drive me insane with desire to fuse
with the scene - since it is impossible

To become part of the landscape or objects like
flowers and seashells… this poem drives me to
distraction with a hurtful desire to become
a melody - a piece of music myself

To be a leitmotiv, a theme, notes in sequence
and harmony; you will think me mad when I try
to explain your melody galloping at such
a wonderful pace

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Weaving

Adding the beauty of every illusion to
my own vision of a beautiful universe,
the sweet sound of Germanic song, the
stark beauty of Rumi, the Sufi poet, the
lovely rhythm of a song in Creole

It does not matter that these examples
have no substance, colour and form; the
shimmering colours appears in the dark
chocolate of the organ notes, the silver
bells of flutes and piccolos

The form is round and strong, there are no
straight lines in words and song, everything
consists of swirling mist, last night I saw the
weaving of Many Worlds, every decision splits
the weaver’s thread into many bits

Weaving side by side, forming patterns like
cables, curling spirals spinning around each

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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Dictates Of Inner Being

Reading Angel Kids by Jacky Newcomb, I am
determined to see it through though I am not
the right target group, she wrote this book for
those who have never read about paranormal
and supernatural events, could you believe it
she asks, using too many exclamation marks

Yet I must finish what I started, happy people
reporting their kids seeing angels and spirits -
answer questions about weird experiences –
why continue if I dislike the style - my spirit
longs for things more stimulating than fun
and laughter; let me fulfil the requirements

Set by my soul, I cannot escape the dictates
of my inner being, only watching TV leaves
me cross-eyed while going beserk…

'Angel Kids' by Jacky Newcomb

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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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See Not At All

The high and mighty lady who seldom
honours state office with her graceful
presence told Madame De Lafayette,
supervisor - off for follow-up tests

Still not coming to the office while the
rest of us are threatened with legal
procedures should we violate any
regulation pertaining to absence

Stunned by these double standards
some openly mimicking Madame La
Pompadour's haughty manner - the
Calvinistic work ethic of colleagues

Enabling them to do her work also, no-
body lodges a complaint; such good
officials, used to oppression for no
apparent reason other than

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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Mad And Growing Worse

Lost sense of chronology due to food allergy, un-
balanced and feverish and irritable - awful to sit
still - as long as there is pressing work to do, it
is easier to ignore these symptoms

The quiet of Friday night makes it impossible to live
life within separate units of time, it feels as if every-
thing should be happening at once and since they can-
not given the limitations of my mind

I feel frustrated, cannot wait for events to happen in
sequence: when reading I think I should be watching
TV, when watching one thing I suspect I am missing
something important somewhere else

Or that I should have been reading an excellent book:
full circle, enough to drive one mad, and it does -
I'm mad and growing worse…

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Cry In Silence

Decided in my early youth pain is good,
while I am crying sitting here, watching
everything very precious to me falling
apart, I am glad in my deepest mind,
rejoice in the opportunity to feel pain
again, I am much too successful in
evading pain, it should catch up with
me from time to time, I follow my list
of things not to do faithfully, it is only
by chance I cry about serious pain, I
gave up ambition to resign myself to
be the dunce at work, a spurned fool,
it is great practising to be impervious
to pain about things we cannot change
- so why does it hurt so much, the only
thing left is to cry in silence…

[The only thing i have accomplished
is to hide all evidence of experience
brilliant to save face]

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Hell In Deep Freeze

Only freedom of ideas is real, bondage simply is
a bondage of ideas because our IDEAS form our
reality - I am afraid I have run out of ideas today -
sitting here in the armoury where all is bound and
chained to their perceptions, limitation is the only
concept we know, limited to this time and space,
limited to saudade, nostalgia, wishing for peace
and contentment when hell is in deep freeze, my
head is burning with my soul smouldering in the
depths of Purgatory, longing for the oblivion of
sleep to melt the stone in my heart and give me
the strength to laugh at myself, looking such an
absurd, tragi-comic figure as a dwarf standing
at attention with an expressionless face just
as I learnt from studying Sam Vimes

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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I Have Just Repeated It (Revised)

Olé Guapa is happening while sitting here with
local development planning & financial assistance,
Andre Rieu conducting with nostalgia, the melody
and dancing as promising as it will always be

Fingers flashing over keys, Death and Renata
Flitworth at it again, dancing up a storm at the
Village Green, dancing on upturned boards, the
rhythm unflagging, augmented by

Languorous lines punctuated by sharp movements
of head, arms outstretched, images repeated again
and again, crying for Saudade, sweet moments
lost in time - I joyously hold on to them - and

The Theory of Relativity - everything that ever was
exists forever and can be repeated whenever we
want - oh, I want, I want, I smile - I have just
repeated it…

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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