Monday 31 March 2014

REFLECTIONS




























Do I shine brightly with 
The ignorance of youth,
When you glance across at me?

Or am I merely an empty face
Of ghostly grey, caught in the
shadow of a deceptive reflection?

See me in the looking-glass - 
A fallen angel on this shallow world,
Or a devious demon from the next?

~ C. Spies 

Friday 28 March 2014

GLOBAL REJUVENATION




























Your body is dying one tiny spec at a time 
through a process known as cellular 
degeneration - A beautiful and tragic 
molecular symphony of inner destruction.

There is a limit to be reached in this 
fading phase; One that cannot be 
underestimated, for it is the end of life itself -
your life, to be specific.

Some people reach this limit quite early on -
Perhaps due to their own choices and lifestyle,
or perhaps due to their natural
inheritance or environment.

A sad element of life, is death -
But a necessary aspect of existence nonetheless.
Without death, life looses its value 
And becomes meaningless to the masses.

If humanity did not have death,
there could be no possibility of birth,
and the human population would 
engulf the world until its final breaking point.

Death, as tragic as it is, is a certain kind of
meticulous and systematic beauty.
It is the world's ever rejuvenating process of existence - 
Beautiful and undeniably unique.

~ C. Spies

Wednesday 26 March 2014

DIVING




























I gaze up at the shimmering lights above me,
Made hazy by this mysterious place.
They're all so close at hand, and yet
Millions and millions of worlds away.

The inky blackness of the landscape,
Is made visible by strange tendrils of light
Streaming from above;
Slowly fading as you venture deeper 
And deeper into this dark abyss.

I'm only ever allowed into this magical world
For a brief period of time,
And yet I think that's half the beauty;
I can never quite see everything.

There's always something new to look forward to
With each breath of fresh air filling up your lungs.
The bubbles stream out of my mouth,
Slowly counting down the time until
I have to return to my world above.

~ C. Spies

LUNA'S GAZE











































She waded through the forest floor
One lonely night in June,
And came across a shimmering pond,
Filled with the image of the moon.

This large sphere - this eerie globe -
Shone strong all through the night.
To that young maiden's curious eyes
Did Selene display her might.

In that great dot did the girl's mind rest,
With thoughts of the great unknown.
She pondered all that she could see,
And all that was never shown.

~ C. Spies 

Tuesday 25 March 2014

THE GERM





























A mighty creature is the germ,
Though smaller than the pachyderm.
His customary dwelling place,
Is deep within the human race.
His childish pride he often pleases
By giving people strange diseases.
Do you, my poppet, feel infirm?
You probably contain a germ.

~ Ogden Nash

Monday 24 March 2014

SERENITY


Like the moon fading in the sky,
And the stars shining softly,
Be as noble as the eeriest night.
Tread through this forest lightly.

Let your shadow lead you far;
Let it guide your wandering spirit.
All your troubled thoughts take flight,
Free as the humble linnet.

Traipse across this land at night
Unburdened from your load.
Make your way ever onwards;
Feet fallen off the road.

Be loyal like the subtle waves
Gently lapping at your heels,
For none could ever feign imagine
What your inner mind conceals. 

~ C. Spies

Sunday 23 March 2014

HOW WOULD YOU PAINT ME?




























If you were an artist
how would you paint me?
With deep solid strokes
or your brush sweeping softly?
Would you paint me by number,
quickly fill in the lines or 
sketch me first, taking your time?
Would you use vibrant colors
or plain shades of gray?
Would you change me in anyway?
Would you hang me proudly
and gaze at me often
or tuck me away
until I'm forgotten?

~ Christy Ann Martine  

COSMIC ROMANCE




























Two lovers found each other 
in the womb of the Cosmos -
In a Universe smaller,
and infinitely younger.

White hot 'Everything' compressed 
into the smallest of places, 
and the smallest of spaces, 
expanding and cooling into 
brilliant sparkling clouds of gas -
The formation of the 
interconnecting galaxies.

These two particles stared 
out across the Cosmos 
at their opposite counterpart... 
They were so very similar, 
and yet so very different 
from one another.

Their entire lives rotated 
in different directions,
and yet they still felt 
as though they were one.

They raced to embrace 
one another, but found 
that their's was a forbidden love - 
One governed and ruled 
by the laws of physics. 

They were forever doomed 
to their individual isolation, 
for as soon as they met each other, 
they annihilated together -

Converging with one another 
into an indescribable energy, 
powerful enough to destroy all that is, 
and all that ever was.

The original Pyramus and Thisbe.  
The original Romeo and Juliet.
A battle on a cosmic scale - 
That of the two lovers,
Matter and Antimatter.

~ C. Spies 

Thursday 20 March 2014

SLUMBER




























I lay there thinking at the midnight hour;
Spinning with thoughts of today,
Soon to become yesterday.

Dreaming of times long passed,
And times that might never even exist.
Swirling around this inner vortex; My mind - 

A very big place in a very small space,
Stretching the night, fuller and fuller
With the infinite gravity of dreams.

~ C. Spies

Wednesday 19 March 2014

ABUSE




























A child taught 
Through violence,
Is an adult
Broken and warped.
Believing no different -
All it's ever known.
It searches for
The comfort 
Of familiarity,
And tragically,
Finds it.

The cycle continues...

~ C. Spies

Tuesday 18 March 2014

OUTCAST




























None could touch her when it came to
Fumbling beauty and honest integrity -
She was a rare gem in an ocean of pebbles,
Sparkling in a way so foreign, that
Confusion clouded their admiration.
A tragic reality, in a world of empty people.

~ C. Spies

Monday 17 March 2014

STREET CHILD







































The world is changing, day by day,
And they're all struggling to survive.
Adapting, trying to find their own way - 
Just fighting to stay alive.

Determined to do what needs to be done -
All alone on this pale blue dot.
Their poor young lives, still barely begun -
All happiness nearly forgot.

Here we sit comfy, and complain of our lives,
While they lie in the streets and shiver.
We squander our riches - All deaf to their cries -
Smirking, as they slowly wither.

~ C. Spies

FIRE AND ICE


























.


His heart made of fire,
Melted her's made of ice.
The loss of her spirit -
The ultimate price.

Her heart made of stone,
Crushed his made of light.
All simply too different
To escape from their plight.

They're killing each other,
And together they will fade.
For the sake of their hearts,
With their lives they have paid.

~ C. Spies

Saturday 15 March 2014

SLEEPWALKER





























Floating above this set spatial plane -
Just drifting, and watching the show.
No impact upon this pseudo reality -
An aberration with nowhere to go.

Indulging in all of their tragic distractions -
So trivial, their troubles and woes.
I long for a peaceful way of existence.
My sight-tools - they're begging to close.

~ C. Spies

Friday 14 March 2014

I LIKE TO SEE IT LAP THE MILES





























I like to see it lap the miles,
And lick the valleys up, 
And stop to feed itself at tanks;
And then, prodigious, step

Around a pile of mountains,
And, supercilious, peer
In shanties by the sides of roads;
And then a quarry pare

To fit it's sides, and crawl between,
Complaining all the while
In horrid, hooting stanza;
Then chase itself down hill

And neigh like Boanerges;
Then, punctual as a star,
Stop - docile and omnipotent - 
At its own stable door.

~ Emily Dickinson

Wednesday 12 March 2014

DEFINITION OF A POET





























"A poet is a fellow who spends his time 
thinking about what it is that's wrong,
and although he knows that he can never 
quite find out what this wrong is, 
he goes right on thinking it out, and 
writing it down. A poet is a blind 
optimist. The world is against him for 
many reasons. But the poet persists. 
He believes that he is on the right track, 
no matter what any of his fellow men say. 
In his eternal search for truth, the poet 
is alone. He tries to be timeless in a society 
built on time."

~ Jack Kerouac (1941 - Nineteen years old)