Welcome to Cameron's BLOG

O:

You are, the iridescent butterfly

With your wing-swish, who stirs the gentle ether,

 Creates the draft that braves the Caribbean trade-winds,

And kisses me with the warm sweet sea breeze off the coastal reef.

O:

Me, the cheeky Clown Fish,

With my tail-swish, who moves the aquatic,

Creates the wave that braves the mighty ocean whitecaps,

And caresses your tired feet with the warm salt water of the great Oceans.

O:

Love, our love, is the innocent dormant acorn,

That will create the next great Oak,

And push the yakking pines aside, to stand proud and alone,

Head-high, boughs wide, and shelter our children from the world’s soak.

:

As long as butterflies fill the sky,

And fish swim the sea,

Our Oak will stand proud,

And under its shade we’ll be.

Comments(0)

Love, what is this word?

As overused as a tired cherished sweater.

Lost in a madding crowd like

The whisper in a bloody heaving arena.

Tired, commercialised, slack!

As hollow as the old fallen Oak

Surrounded by a forest of ignorant Spruce Pine,

As far as the eye can stretch.

Bereft,

A cold breeze amongst empty trees, merely a rustle and gone.

How can a word so worn and smashed do justice to the depth of feeling

For you, my soul mate – so entwined into my psyche?

Comments(0)

What I’m most scared of, Grandpa, is mine own sanity!

Mine own psyche to be consumed by mine own psyche.

Cannibalised – sliced, diced, consumed by the rolling monster.

Lost in the serene orderly clutter,

To be scavenged like a corpse to vultures.

‘

And there I’ll be pacified for hours by Willow-the-Wisp,

Or turn up for work without my trousers, or

Give up quite stoic the turmoil of the rational world.

And in my bliss I’ll find solace in the rational calm

Of my neat madness.

‘

Please, Grandpa, I don’t want to be one of Nietzsche’s Sleepies,

Nor engulfed by the frenzied crazies of Heracles and lose all I hold dear.

What scares me most, Grandpa, is to fall -

Fall beyond the slate cliff and into the inky depths of Plath’s bell jar,

To walk with you unequal.

‘

Reach out for me, Grandpa; stay with me as I cling on to all I find dear.

Beat away those eyes, hands, and black fingernails that claw at my body.

Press the egging echoes that rise like bubbles of sulphurous air from my deep

Conscience. Save me, Grandpa! Save me from mine own mind,

Before I fall to its simple allure.

‘

Grandpa, I beg, never leave my side. Let your spirit hold me close.

I feel the day approach where I lose my desire to stay.

And that time will see the moment when I forego all my chattels for -

The quietness, the sleepiness, the deepest despair,

That fate whispers as my true destiny.

Comments(0)

Close your eyes.

Think of the ocean.

No, the sea.

Off a near Caribbean island.

Okay, right, now think of a boat.

A sailing boat; with silver shrouds and high mast.

And just you and me aboard.

Now, Princess, think of the night.

A moonless night with an army blanket sky,

With glitter silver sprinkled across it.

Perfect!

You’re at the helm with me.

I’m holding you tight, keeping the ocean’s chill at bay.

Listen, smell, a breeze – soft,  sweet,

Off the sleeping reef,

Wow!

Look up.

The stars:

~

Choose one; I’ll have it cut for a golden ring thet you might wear; with pride of place.

Comments(0)

Pitter-patter of the heart.

The uncontrollable smile that tightens the cheekbones

      and fills the body with a Shakespearian sonnet;

         On a Mills and Boon swoon.

‘
And yet its source is amazing! Electro-chemical autonomous response

   to the things around us that we are destined – nay programmed – to feel.

      One kiss and we are filled with a painter’s determination;

         Our purpose to connect, our destiny to replicate.

‘

It’s not that I don’t feel it.

   It’s not that I don’t understand it.

      It’s simply that the mechanics dulls the sparkle of the miracle;

        That nests within the scape of affectionate resolute wealth.
‘

The cold machinery of Darwin, Freud, Plato,

   all conspiring to explode the deepest resolute sureness

      of feelings that are so personal, so emotionally wrapped up;

         Shaped by humanity’s thymos, our need to be loved by all others.

‘

So what’s to be?

Comments(0)

Comments(1)