(My Corona) -2U
I want for nothing
But buttercups
And
The illume of
The afternoon
When the sun
Is due South
To be carried
'Cross meadows
Summer sweet
With Rhubarb and
Berries of varied
Colours picked
Laid ever so gently
In my basket
Bathed in the sweet
Honey Comb
Of The Bee
To be serenaded
By the Songbirds
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poem by Theodora Onken
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Dissonance
The moon has cast its influence...
For all lunacy to abound--
A journey through your cranial matter...
Pounding out insanitys sound;
Your split persona has dominated---
Paranoia that is rife with spleen...
Ever so hard to digest your personal quest--
Difficult to grasp your outright mean! ;
Your 'delusions of personal reference'--
Seem to dominate your daily grind...
Revealing darkened edges of 'insanities poetic'--
The escort of the splitting mind;
Underneath The Umbrella
1974-2010
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poem by Theodora Onken
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Stems
Empty hours accumalate -
And take over;
Nothing ventured and definately-
Nothing gained...
Critical minute blown away in --
Idle contemplation...
While 'Rules Of Thumb' are busy twiddling;
While the clocks tic has now regained its tock...
And happier days are -
Even further away;
At one time-our life-
Was like a Merry-Go-Round...
Circlling-the proverbial 'Brass Ring';
Brazen to haughty...
Where nothing -
Or no one could-
Disturb our daily lives-
Which were-
Lived just under the-
Guise of permissable;
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poem by Theodora Onken
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Cowpoke
Creeping down the roads of never ever-
A tumble weed blows 'cross the plain...
Up and down-then round and round-
Wonderin' if its you once again! ;
You have this rootless way about ya...
And its sneaky as devious can be-
So glad that the suns finally shinin'...
'Cause you might a' been the death of me;
They say that they don't come much meaner-
And that you enjoy dishin' the pain...!
But always 'neath a mask of make believe...
You are blowin' in the wind once again;
Your true colours are startin' to show tumble weed-
And more and more cow pokes agree-
That a rootless old tumble weed-blowin' with speed-
Is at last loosin' his ability-to clearly see;
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poem by Theodora Onken
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Reach
The intelligence of the heart
Is really all that matters
All the rest-wasted breath
'Tis but mindless chatter;
In a broken down city
Upon a most mundane lane
Love is always the answer
When laughter meets pain;
A privilege of passion...
Mirrored courage in a glance
A sweet loving journey
A golden romance;
Sustained through the depths
As concrete as the night
Elicit as a tryst conceived
In the glare of the sun ever bright;
His eyes melted her defenses
As shadows disappeared with the night
Her flesh-a longing receptical
For the inner sanctum of his delight;
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poem by Theodora Onken
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St. Helens
This volcanic mountain stands in great majesty
Pregnant with knowledge o'er time
Upon the threshold of birthing baskests of lava filled knowledge
Todays Pilgrims take on its steep climb;
Longing for answers of its history
Of this planet and perhaps e'en beyond
At the base of this most gand mountain
The Pilgrims kneel in awe of what has been found;
Cavernous caves formed o'er the years
Tiny echos of the pilgrims voices are heard
Nearby-birds in a nest-make for the best
Flying 'neath the mountain are the Bluebirds;
In the space surrounding this mountain
Multiple eulogies are played in the thin air
But with nary a casket only knowledge filled lava baskets
Words of knowledge of the mountain now lay bare;
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poem by Theodora Onken
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Shred's of Light
Being blinded by my life
I take the back city alleys
Avoiding the harsh concrete jungle
Of highways and byways of past valleys
Too much-too soon-way too soon
Negative heart beats-a rapid fire stream
Adrenalin of fear fuels my heart to go
Needing flight but near impossible dream
I take off swiftly running instead
Pebbles they stick underneath my feet
Lead into an opposite direction
Into frays of questionable beings deceit
Holed up in hobbles of cardboard
An addict is jonesing near by me
Cries in the night strung out alarming
A break in my armour near complete
Turning around toward the Psalms of David(Verse23)
Facing the music is now a done deal
Out of the back city alleys i ardently leap
Into the light of the world's real
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poem by Theodora Onken
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Together Forever
It was in the childhood of days-
The trails of our misty morn
Bedazzled by Springs blossoms
Where our: 'Together' was born;
Fortified by the adolescence of afternoons-
Caressed by many a butterfly kiss
Lost in your gentle arms of love
Overgown in the sweetest of bliss;
Growing into the adulthood of night-
Where the dusk touched our soft alibastor shore
Aglow in the windows of glorious true love
Together in the sunset of evermore;
Yes, a lifetime of you and i...
Oh, how we did grow
Many days such as these
That, we have come to truly know;
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poem by Theodora Onken
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Conspiracy Lane
My Life has been a Public Intrusion
The 1970's through to today are identified
Vetted and vetted again
After too long a buriel
Headline making today
As conspiracies always are
I was once lost in the deep woods of regret and error
The Light saved me and pointed the way
Such a cordial Light
It simply glows upon all of the wrong and hidden
'So, So, So 'long it was such a time of darkness
I awaited the Good Day of reckoning light
A day where i Survive the TENACIOUS actions
Of my camouflaged foe
They have been a deadly foe
Always up to their necks in maleficence
Where there is a Will there isn't necessarily a way
For all of your judgements*
For all of your GREED**
For all of your multiple masks***
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poem by Theodora Onken
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Back Alley Wanderings
It's them back alley wanderin's again-
And i got them sneak around blues
Your footsteps on gravel-crackle heavy
Cigarettes with DNA-foot prints from your shoes;
California boys and their raging Redwoods
Just workin' for: The Man-night and day
Coasting along-biding their criminal time in hours
Starlight shimmers upon your shadows at play;
Norhtern Cali leaves an indeliable mark
Just doin' what he says needs done
Always, most always, in pitch dark-
Packing, but not necessarily, a gun;
Would it totally blow ya away, man
If, i told ya-we know who you are and your aim?
Tell ya-back alley wanderin's ain't very smart...
Especially, now that we have the name of your game;
Got me a real bad case of M.S.-
And tell ya-the H.N. is spotlighted glaringly bright-
Wonder just what he'd tell ya to do?
When ya are finally arrested and questioned tomorrow night;
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poem by Theodora Onken
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