Writings from our Poet and our Customers


HINDSIGHT

 

 

Little bits and pieces of humanity on show;

A museum to the memory of all we did not know;

A tribute to our blindness and simple lack of trust;

Behind a two way mirror, past visions turn to dust.

Did we not reach out far enough?  Did we all fail to try?

Or simply turn our heads when spirit tried to catch our eye.

Messages remain unanswered.   The lines have all gone down.

The past has broken free to haunt the cities and the towns.

On pedestals the arrogant are tarnished like their pride;

Showcases full of guilt and shame just cannot be denied.

Cobwebs of fear weave patterns, across decaying pasts,

And ‘dust to dust’ becomes the chant of those whose memory lasts.

The signposts that we did not see, now take pride of place,

A warning to the future of another human race.

The wrong direction taken, or eyes that could not see?

An attitude that went astray, or warped philosophy?

Too many faces turned away from truth beneath our feet,

As the gold gets swept out with the dirt into an empty street.

Why does the past catch up with us, and haunt us here and now?

And the wisdom of the hindsight gods forces us to bow.

Somewhere between the questions and the answers is the space

Where the view both ways is clear with understanding’s grace.

Be still and walk the quiet aisles and pay your humble dues,

And listen to the patient guide whose wisdom speaks to you.

The effigies and epitaphs have lessons in the gloom

As beams of light dance through the dust of the teaching room.

Ghosts might talk, the dead might rise, the stories will unfold,

Who can tell where we went wrong, if the secrets are not told.

Beware the plague of ignorance that lingers from the past

And haunts the ruins of today, from behind the looking glass.

Like in a nightmare, those of us, who care to, wander through,

And shiver with the knowledge, the sense of deja’ vu.

History repeats, and herein the lesson lies,

The mistakes aren’t there for nothing, they make us realize

Where we’ve come from, where we’re going, and what has always been -

Respect the past for leading us, to where the future must begin.


 


 

(wendy slee)

 

The writings, poems and shared thoughts from Cafe patrons are published as part of my blog, links to which can be found on the Cafe Musing page, or "here" ...

 

 

 


SILENCE

Silence speaks, in volumes that ripple their thick base notes across the surface of my heart.

In silence swims the essence of memory, a slippery persistent fish, nibbling nerve endings of raw, familiar sorrows.

Silence rains with the gentle patter of teardrops against the windows of my dreams.

Oh, silence, too heavy to bear, so cruel a curse, the weapon of choice for a fearful soul. Silence, the sound of fear and woundedness, it cringes in the shadows, and torments itself.

Silence trembles waiting in the doorway, afraid to take that next small step, a limbic dance between then and now.

Silence, the humbling voice of truth, echoes across self deception, and is heard in the cold glassy voice of mirrors past and present, mirrors I have known and loved. self consciously reflecting what it hurts too much to hear.

Silence is the vacuum, a pulsing void of the unknown waiting to become known. Listen… as silence speaks, It is the language of the dead whispering secrets across the veil, icy words to remind and haunt, elusive answers dangling between unspoken lines.

Silence speaks in sameness, in difference,
Indifference,

Silence stands alone without keys to break its own code, an insurmountable wall, a deafening presence. Yet Silence at its worst cannot survive without the spirit of another to shine light into its darkness and kiss meaning onto its cold lips.

But silence has its sunset and sunrise.
It is the falling sun, and the awakening moon.
Listen…
Silence holds a music of its own,
It dances in the light
And rings with hope,
Like birdsong in the dark hours
Before dawn.

Silence is a gift,
A healing touch…
A solace to the mind;
The herald of the now.

Silence,
An affirmation of distance,
Invisible hands that push away,
Yet in a change of heart
A beckoning of souls,
The drawing near
Of intimacy,
A holy communion.

Silence bristles with passion,
The connecting force
That vibrates the chords
Between two hearts,
A living entity,
Rich with meaning.

Listen…
Silence with soul, breathes
The song of the living,
The turn of the seasons,
The waiting breath for a baby’s cry,
The resting place for a body
Whose being walks another plane.

Silence holds power.
The Master musician knows.
In that instant between two notes
The silence dwells,
Defines their diversity and
Enhances the beauty of their union.

Silence is the tide
Between all islands,
A portent of emotion,
The song of the heavens,
And the swell of the heart,
Silence, whose connecting force
Tunes the keys of all instruments,
Lives, and its unsung harmony endures
Beyond life’s symphony, through the final curtain fall.

(wendy slee)

 

                                                         

 

 

 

Already the creative juices have begun to flow. Wendy has left note pads on the tables in the tearooms. Watch this space as we upload some offerings that were left behind like crumbs on a plate....

.  "I know you beleive you heard what you thought Id said...But Im not sure if you realize that what you heard is not what I meant??  Work this one out ... Edie and Dot

 

Roses are red,

Violets are blue

So goes the age old rhyme

But I know violets are red and roses are blue

I seen them hanging on the line...

 

Folding Truth


I read between the lines
And glimpse the many colours that are shadowed within,
So hard to fold one’s truth
Into such tiny places.
But that is the way life’s laundry gets placed,
The sunshine folded into sheets
And stored within lines for a rainy tomorrow.
Minute corners of comfort
Protrude between the lines of our story
Year after year after year.


Today, I pull the blanket of truth
From its hidden place
And shake out its many folds,
Unfurling its colours to the wind,
Airing the frays and tears in the
Interwoven threads of a soul’s journey.
I spread it on the Earth,
A multi-coloured landscape
A resting place to come home to
A place to lay a weary body.
I take the well worn edges and draw its
Heavy warmth around my trembling shoulders.
Fingers feel the softness and touch with tenderness
That which is constant.
Like a child enswathed, hidden and safe,
I fold myself in the comfort of truth
And close my eyes.

There are wide spaces between the lines now
And I glimpsed the tattered edges
Of your truth hiding there.
It is time for you to take out your blanket
Caress with love its tears and frays,
Wrap it around your shoulders
To keep the cold at bay.

Is it possible
That we can appreciate the beauty of another’s blanket?
In the dark night of our journey
When the lines drift free with no space in between,
Can we feel the warmth and wonder
In the folds of each other’s truth.

 

(Wendy Slee)