The Little Shop

It was undistinguished, commonplace,

A little shop, just one in a row,

But on a winter's day to walk inside

To feel the warmth, bask in the glow

Of an atmosphere filled with the scent

Of coffee beans and almond nuts,

See tablecloths in red and white,

Hear the tinkling tone of teaspoon on cup,

Was to escape the weather's hellish grasp,

The biting cold, the blustery wind,

The drizzling rain, the swirling snow,

And find a piece of heaven within.

From Entertaining Verse Poems        

©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)




When Time Speaks
When the lights went down

I put a candle to the crown

Taught me a story of unknown

Hoping to die, or never born


And yet I lay below my bed

It was so dark, sure I was glad

To feel a warmth besides those paths

Maybe I am not yet dead


A voice…hanging in my head, standing there

The same voice I could not bear

Told me a secret in which I'd share

For they of whom I care


Let the time stand still

Let them come…come near

Let the joy break my chill

And let the kid kill his tears

This poem is published in a collection of poetry "As The Rest Heal My Heart"


It clings to the cliffed shore,
to the wintered face of the thistle path,
to the fingers of the old man's glove
as he waves his memory homeward

In that breath between come and go
she moves up from the bay;
gold turns her stride,
the line of her dress,
the soft sea pulling at her feet

When he reaches out
and the frail birds fly
and the sun and the sky
have married deep into the sea, it clings

Even as his shadow threads retreat,
it clings, even now as it dissolves to mist
The Ancients
It's my last day with the old giants
In mourning I hike the lost trails,
sniffing the aroma of the bark,
that cinnamon of the forest
Under tepees of wood
in a membrane of shadows,
I stalk the earth, its mammal traces,
its elusive tracks,
to sit on a fallen log
where spiders macramé,
moss sloping to my knees
unaware of invisibles within,
grubbing in their tunnels
A lizard taps my foot,
responding, I muse to its touch,
my thoughts like Indian visions,
And when daylight mushrooms into night,
and an owl hoots from cedar,
I still sit with a lizard on my shoe
Huddled with the ancients of the woods
Alone Time

Alone Time


Thoughts drip

Forming rivers

In my mind

Like window pane



Demons demand

My time

Lurking, waiting

To strike without



The past

Has passed

But not gone



The future

Has them

They loom

Dark as plague



Drip, drip

They seep

Into my mind


Bitter Herbs


Blow the trumpets in the new moon,

Sing in the spring time for life's song,

Swing into spring, let's celebrate,

Spring in the New Year, let's cultivate,

Remember the past over the pass,

Remember to pass over the task,

 And eat those bitter herbs,


Own the confession,

Circumcise the heart,

Taste the affliction,

Past to pass,

Prepare the unleavened bread,

Water the soul,

Lamb the meat,

Pray to the east,

And drink those bitter herbs,


Slaves, own your cotton,

Slaves, own your terms of endearment,

Slaves, own your jazz, hip-hop, rock and roll,

Slaves, own your calypso, reggae, gospel and your soul,

Slaves own your captivity,

Slaves, own your Biblical identity,

And eat those bitter herbs,


Sodom and Gomorrah, own your fire,

Egypt, own your plagues,

Babylon, own the handwriting wall,

Rome, own your burning fall,

America, own your racist reprisal,

Israelites, own your Bible,

Ishmael, own your fatal seal for your slave trading zeal,

Edom, own your hell Obadiah revealed,

And drink those bitter herbs,





and yarrow,

Cleanliness ensues the straight and narrow,


Own the confession,

 Circumcise the heart,

Taste the affliction,

Past to pass,

Prepare the unleavened bread,

Lamb the meat,

Pray to the east,

 And eat those bitter herbs…

Word is Wind


It is the same wind that has the ability to knock over houses

It is the same wind

That accompanies the hurricane

That accompanies the tornado

That has destroyed so many peoples life

With just one huff

So how it that you can say word is is wind

And expect me to be okay

When the same wind

Has knocked me around and beat me down

The same words have spun me around

Sticks and stones have not done me as badly

As the words assumed not to be able to hurt.

Breaking bones don't sound too bad

But bullying makes me shiver.


Don't Bully Kids….

My window

My window looks at fairy tree.
Its branches bend and twist.
Its leaves are whispering with glee,
Its hallow makes a whistle.

 A little river under the tree
Is running through the fog.
A marvelous song amazes me
Performed by a tiny frog.


Lyrical pharmacology
If your problems make you cry,
You should take SSRI

SSRI - selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitors.
Nano Muffin

It is on a beach then in a car, fast and invisible.

People who believe in it say it may be invincible.

Incredible are the exploits upon its journeys.

School yard stories made up on the spot, as it listens.

Nodding when they're true, shaking when but puff.

Soo popular maybe because anyone could relate.

To the crazy unbelieveable, and had eaten muffins.

Eventually you could even buy them at bakerys, empty boxes.

Merchandising included comics, they were the invisible man.

And superman and wolverine, anything imagine can do.

Levetation and teleportation were favourite hobbies.

Nobody knew who first discovered it or made it up.

So a percentage of profits were put into a slushy fund.

So any child anywhere could be refreshed for free.

POEM FROM #TheWoodpeckersDaydream

The Psalm of Tatenda Yah

The Psalm of Tatenda Yah

To the music producer DJ QaC. The psalm he sang at the wedding feast of the Lamb and His bride. -22 Jan 2016

Yisrael of Yah went into slavery 

for the Power of His mighty to be seen,

The ammishaddai by the mighty hand of Elohim were delivered from pharaoh.

Yhwh, was with them in the desert,

Forty years being who He is to His people

Teaching them His Torah.

We read in the Tanakh of His everlasting Love for His people,

And the power of His salvation,

His righteous judgement and

His enduring mercies.

Yisrael was enslaved and delivered

For the Tanakh to be written.

For You knew the plans You had

For our Fathers,

Plans of hope and a future,

Our fathers besought You

With all their heart and they found You.

When their groaning came before You

You left Your throne for their cause.

They were like they that dream,

When Your highness

Turned away their Captivity.

Our sovereign ruler loves justice,

And hates robbery with iniquity;

You gave us our recompense in truth,

Then made the everlasting covenant with us.

How excellent is Your name,

The mighty one of Yacob,

May all the glory, power, dominion and honour be unto You our Adonai

For ever and ever.


Yahshua came for the lost sheep of Yisrael

To find a bride for Himself

He wrote her the New Covenant

Who believed our report?

When we proclaimed in all the lands,

‘To us a child is born

To us a son is given

And the government will be upon His shoulder, Him who gives beauty for ashes

Yahshua Ha Mashiach, Pele- Joez-El-Gibbor-Abi-Ad-Sar-Shalom.

He paid for His bride by His blood

Cleared her debt and overcame death.

The bride sings,

O death, where is thy sting?

O grave, where is thy victory?'

Forever will He be with us

Behold! His tabernacle is with us,

And He dwells with His bride,

We are His,

And He belongs to His bride, our God.



I wrote DOVA for you Huchi

It's a family tradition.


You're trying your best to hide your bruises.
He slaps you around and says that you're useless. 
You're starting to believe that maybe it's true. 
He doesn't appreciate anything you do.
Make-up hides bruises but not the pain. 
There's little sunshine and lots of rain.

It's like you're on a roller coaster ride. 
With Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde.
Love should never include pain.
But for you he has so much disdain.
You say it's hard for you to get out.
Could it be yourself who you really doubt?

Being beat by him is not amusing.
He tells you he loves you but it's you he's confusing. 
Everyone wonders why you keep on staying.
You'll get out safely we're hoping and praying.
He keeps getting worse and acting real strange. 
When will you realize he's not going to change?

The verbal abuse is just as bad.
It tears you down and keeps you sad.
It makes you feel like less than a lady.
And sometimes it even makes you feel crazy. 
What he did to you was assault and battery. 
You keep on saying, “Oh he's just mad at me.”

You keep on believing that it's your fault.
And you keep on taking his assault.
The police come so often your home is their substation. 
You never press charges so it causes frustration.
Sad thing is he too was a victim.
But I refuse to make excuses for him.

Just take a look at your face in the mirror.
Old bruises new bruises but it never gets clearer.
Sometimes he treats you like you're a Queen.
But what about the times he's just plain mean? 
You long for the times he treats you right.
You're hoping and praying for another good night.

Please get out of this for heaven's sake.
If you don't you're making a big mistake. 
When all is said and done it's your decision. 
Getting out should be your primary mission.
You thought he was the best man in the world. 
But you made a mistake so move on girl!

By Gary G. Tavares

No love is strange.

I feel but I want to read the notation
of the wonderful music of love.
I dance Polka dance
with the rhythm of love
dancing in my never old heart
but I want to read the rosy steps
of the other heart;
the steps that will never stop
even if my feet get slow and then still!
A death is never a death
when love hugs a life.
Survived by someone special
closest to the soul
maybe alien to the world
that knows only itself
that always wants to know only itself
is the best living after death.
Am I being selfish then?
Craving for an unsound life after death?
At the cost of her living death?
No dream told me that she would come...
Destiny did not foretell.
It is she who told me that she has come...
Told me that she would stay
even when I get grey.
Her eyes have written the poetry of oath
and I am taken to this surrealist poetry!
My growing feet have resigned to her growing hands
and sing and dance together our hearts.

A mummy of a calendar!

A piece of art
with many pieces together
unified by an art
of some colors together
hangs in the soul of a calendar
hung with a month of a gone-by year.

Undying music amid contorted visages
falls from the ether to sail through voyages
and buffoonery stands out among knit images
to smug at the crowded tragedies in many niches!

(The poem is composed on the image drawn by Amrita Laha)


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