On the hills of carpeted lands
Sprinkle spread as far the eye can see
Dandelions claim this land as their own
Bright and yellow like victory songs loud
On the hills of carpeted lands
At an advantage for observers watch
Lighthouse stands like flag spots post
Beaming light to sailors rescue
On the hills of carpeted lands
Structured built a house as mighty
To give the light a rock to stand with, backbone
Grand and symbolic to journeys' end
On the hills of carpeted lands
Wild as weed, voyagers travel out at sea
Seeking route on adventures fortune
Assigned gift as promises of faithfulness
On the hills of carpeted lands
A pact is made, a happiness award
A symbolic medallion for travelers comfort
That the home of hearts would wait for love
On the hills of carpeted lands
Spring would beam bright the essence of dandelions
Picture by:
Lighthouse Dandelions by Jamie Wyeth
I am a painter
Or at least I try to be one
A world renowned painter
I am to be known for my works of art
Indeed I am a painter
Gifted an eye to see structured colours
Though I feel my hands are tied
Roped strung and bound firm in bondage
To look on, onto canvas
Calling out, with edge to display
I am a caged beast
A lion from the far lands, eastern hills
Where the mountains gave way
To giants of men who walk with confidence
Conquered all and placed flags of honour
I saw them as nothing more than mole hill
I am god sent
But just as a mere mortal
To die, perish one day
As proof of my mortality as human
With visions of god sent
Gifted to weave words into meaning
A creative art as parable
Allowing an underlying current to flow
Testing the wisdom of wise-men
To interpret concepts laid to adopt
I am an engineer
Hanging on spinning wheels
Adjusting and twisting nuts
Bolts to positions fixed
To accelerate motion
Steam engine trains on rails
But sometimes I drop my spanner
Into the depths of clogged machinery
I am a travelling man
A voyager from distance lands
Each step a testimony of my resolve
Each voyage a proof of my blessed deed
Though sometimes I feel my hands are tied
Roped strung and bound firm in bondage
I am an artist of sorts
No less in regard
A canvas sits empty before me
Brushes and paint colours line up in jars
Visions lay plentiful in my head to share
A beautiful master piece awaits the light of day
Though I feel my hands are tied
Roped strung and bound firm in bondage
The prayer then that
The gods will hear us today
I pray tomorrow, the gods come back with grace
I pray tomorrow my hands are set free again
To paint modernity on these lands
And see it manifest into reality
Setting free minds that lay conservative
Imprisoned in their own built up cages
I am a painter of words
Watch meaning unfold, or at least I try to be
To have angered a Greek god
The god of voyager on tarmac asphalt
None more infuriating to the driver
In his office sat with his steering wheels
Than the ones that for a brief moment
Occupy space, two seats beside his throne
To have engaged the Greek god
In a tussle of words, not wise
Have you no regard for the craft
The art of voyage and the Greek god
A period in time, as service rendered
Customarily to get one on Aladdin's carpet
To a place need be, for family or friends
For the workers keep as required
Why then anger a Greek god
Tasked to carry you and life to a place in time
Most if talk be done, would be by the mate
A god none the less, though with patience to deal
More akin to the nagging ungrateful qualities
Of the mere humans they carriage to safety
Mother oh mother
You gave the breath that made me so
You nurtured the tenderness in my heart
You gave me a shoulder to cry on, I cried
Mother oh mother
You gave me the confidence to believe in me
You always remained solid as a rock to stand on
You never lost, hope, faith, I know
You cradle me from young without feathers
And to adulthood your warmth is still felt
Mother oh mother
You are the comfort I know and trust
You are the truth in sincerity
You are the conscience in my thought
You are the restraint to my unleash
You always know to stop me from burning bridges
Mother oh mother
You are the strength that sits in me
You are my heroine of great name
You are an inspiration from gifted bless
I will always be in debt as assured
With what gratitude I owe you Mother
You are and always will be through eternity
My Mona Lisa...sweet mother
Mother oh mother
Don't wake me up from sleep
To disturb the magic chime I hear
Crimson dash of red wine
Thirstily defined from a distance
Senses eyes wide open on observation
I conspire to the school of thought
Of the alluring imploding beauty
The red rose flower, bright on a sunny day
Immersed in the rapture of emotions
Sending observers sitting up straight
To hear what sounds of music jazz
Serenading melodies are sung with groove
From the red lips of a sound-ful
Soulful angel singing harmony
Pouts a bit, smiles a lot, eyes do too
Graced with a wonderful spirit
Don't wake me up from sleep
I hear the ladybird's songs
She is with that red colour bright
I hear the ladybird's songs
Don't wake me up from sleep
To disturb the magic chime I hear
In support of the:
New Morning Arts Cafe' Theatre & Creative Centre
