Step into the Rainbow - Colin R Brookfield (best selling autobiographies TXT) š
- Author: Colin R Brookfield
Book online Ā«Step into the Rainbow - Colin R Brookfield (best selling autobiographies TXT) šĀ». Author Colin R Brookfield
and the parts you all play in fulfilling a quest,
for the Earth is the place of the predatory dream
The illusory world of every extreme.
Then the cat āshouldered armsā and stared at its tail
and it thought about Earth and it started to wail.
Then it scratched at its head with a leg from the rear
whilst it poured out its woes for the wizard to hear.
Then it pointed its paw at the streaming menagerie
still armed with their tooth and claw weapons and gadgetry.
Said the Wizard āyour memories of things that were fell,
they were not real it was part of my spell.
It was kinder to teach in a world of pretence,
so that all that come here wonāt repeat those eventsā
Then the cat saw a mouse go scampering by
and it didnāt give chase and it didnāt know why.
The Wizard had noticed and said ālook around
thereās no hunger no anger no fear to be foundā
Then the cat had a stretch, after washing its face
and again asked why humans were in such disgrace.
He replied āthey abuse their abstract ability
reducing all creatures to servile utility.
But my spell is eternal for those it entraps
with irrational thoughts and insensitive acts.
Then a solitary human stepped out of the crowd
and the cat gave a purr unbelievably loud
then it ran to the arms of someone it knew
and the Wizard looked on and enjoyed the view.
Cats are Stress Relieving
A lovely new carpet arrived at our door,
the second this year upon the same floor,
kitten came too and she sprinkled and splashed
till it smelt like the carpet last year that she trashed.
Sheās consumed with affection and feminine charm
and a wire-brush tongue; we smell like a farm.
Faces suffer patiently, her sticky tongue and nose,
followed by the futile trips, where soap and towel repose.
Little nips are sent to please, nothing seems disdainful,
every thing is up for grabs but only where its painful.
Leaping blindly into baths was recently curtailed,
it wasnāt always empty, goodness how she wailed.
So it wasnāt herds of rhino playing hockey in our bath,
just moggy and her ping-pong ball; weāre too stressed out to laugh.
The date is set for neutering, two more weeks to go,
next doorās tom is amorous - weāre feeling very low.
Soggy Kids
The builders dug a giant hole,
enough to lose a bus in,
ready for a public house,
they should have filled the thing.
For now the war had started
and the pub a ānon eventā,
the rain came down in torrents
and in the hole it went.
The local boys were overjoyed
they brought along a raft,
so Jimmy and his sister came
to test their home-made craft.
Their boat was made of canvas
around a wooden frame,
but after dragging half a mile
it didnāt look the same.
Jimmy clambered in it
then his sister heaved,
but if she hadnāt grabbed his hair
she might have been bereaved.
Later, floating on a raft
that didnāt quite support her,
the wretched thing tipped sideways
dumping sister in the water.
Jimmy made a graceful dive
and cleaved his way across,
for brothers donāt like siblings
to become a total loss.
Having reached the other side,
his sister spluttered, āJim,
that was rather clever
youāve never learned to swim.ā
Luckily the day was hot
to steam away the wet,
from a pair of unkempts
who may get a smacking yet.
Aeolus
Across the lands a drifting breeze,
to warm, to cool, to heat or freeze.
It carries scents to needful noses
that wild things know where food reposes.
Micro life to its breezes cling
and larger creatures on the wing.
Delivers water, dust and seeds
fresh air to fetid places feeds.
It harries and reshapes the land,
all things upon it feels its hand.
For Nature needs to rearrange
and with her breath deliver change.
Into every nook and cleft,
not a place is found bereft.
Then rests a while on mirrored seas.
and over land on silent trees.
Tomorrow though must wait and see,
for every moodās a lottery.
Labyrinth
Theseus in the labyrinth
was a journey in his head,
his shadow was the Minator
until its blood was shed.
Ariadne was his anima,
his hopes lay in her care,
she knew how to find the door,
her golden thread led there.
All is Relative
If I were a Dragonfly,
quick to move and soon to die,
Iām certain Iād perceive my life
as long in span, not over spry.
Iād see the walking creatures
like zombies in slow motion,
a mockery of industry
with minds so slow of notion.
If I were a mighty tree,
three hundred years would fly,
Iām certain Iād perceive my life
an average span and rather spry.
Of course my hours would be seasons,
twenty-four would make my year,
walking creatures would be speeding blurs
with our timings out of gear.
If I were a continent,
upon the molten magma lie,
Iām certain Iād perceive my life
an average span and rather spry.
Iād count my year in millions
of orbits āround the sun,
if rumoured that I carry life,
I would not have noticed one.
Natureās Golden Rule
Imperceptible to sight
is black on black, or white on white,
they have no independent meaning,
lest in contrast they are seen in.
All opposites and shades amidst
must interact or not exist,
ātis one of Natureās golden rules,
all spheres of life it serves and fuels.
Our Time Will Come
Whilst sunshine fell upon her face,
I dreamed within another place.
Fly thought to her upon the breeze,
bring then her answer to me please.
Her vision formed and then receded,
for its return then my heart pleaded.
Then in my dream her soft voice spoke,
āOur time will comeā, so I awoke.
Imaginations
Energy will ebb, energy will flow,
but imagination gives the orders
of which way itās going to go.
Didsāt Grant Without Mine Asking
The unbidden came and said āGo free
from the cloying shadow; let they spirit flee.
Fly then so high the inward sky
that nothing can describe or even try.
So small it makes of all thatās left behind,
that words and breath withhold, as does the mind,
and fading pasts that echo on forever,
carries not a single trace thatās nether.
The ways are known as well as where,
so light as dreams upon the air,
at last, thy flighting feathers flairā.
The Black Shepherd Cat
The black shepherd cat flowed out of the dark,
quiet as a shadow, its paws left no mark.
Then it entered the room where somebody slept,
who was quite unaware just how close it had crept.
Then the black shepherd cat took over control
of the person that slept to awaken their soul.
The awakening one recoiled with surprise,
away from the black shepherd catās gleaming eyes.
But the black shepherd cat was there on a quest,
a mission of care at anotherās behest.
Then a movement nearby brought its ward into sight,
so the black shepherd cat flowed back to the night,
for a sleek Siamese had appeared on the floor,
a friend whoād been lost from this world years before.
Then gathering all this was meant to impart,
the awakening one woke up with a start.
It was clear he was now in a parallel life,
for attempts were in vain to awaken his wife.
Had this been the lot of his Siamese friend,
an emotional trap awaiting lifeās end,
alone in this house with no one to care,
nobody knowing that he was still there?
So this was the task in the āshepherd catāsā mind,
to gather lost souls for return to their kind.
But why was a human made privy to this,
a portent perhaps that one shouldnāt dismiss?
For a soul cannot fly at the end of the day
when emotional chains too heavily weigh.
But, to the black shepherd cat - I couldnāt owe more,
for I passed and returned through lifeās final door.
One Extra for the Night
In alluding to our secrets
in metaphoric form,
popularity seems to favour
closet skeletons as its norm.
Though mine, Iām forced to say
has snout trotters and a sty
and wonāt be left in allegory
like a ālarge whiteā lie.
It started on a lonely farm
in nineteen thirty seven
after city life, till the age of five,
it turned the thirties into heaven.
Though I had my suspicion
why my parents sent me there,
after five years of my mischief,
theyād lined up Grandma for a share.
It took, of course, a week or two
before I āfound my feetā,
being several hundred miles away
from my London street.
The local postman had a cycle
with a spare seat at the rear,
he took letters off to London
and delivered theirs back here.
This method of delivery
was all I ever saw,
so I concluded that his cycle
made the journey door to door.
How I pestered that poor postman
for a ride upon the seat,
each time he rode to London,
taking letters to our street.
To save the postmanās sanity
I was found employment,
piglets and a sow to feed,
āTwas not to my enjoyment.
Every time the sty was cleaned,
āI ran the gauntletā of her teeth,
she seemed to have a mission,
to make my presence brief.
Though it could have been revenge,
for the times that she was fed,
when her nose went in the trough too quick
and breakfast finished on her head.
But soon I got the knack
of dishing out her food
and she replaced the biting
with a better mood.
Her den was just a tiny room,
the walls were made of brick
with an entrance like an igloo,
inside, the straw was clean and thick.
One day I overheard the news,
my parents were arriving
and I would have to pack my case,
then back to London weād be driving.
The afternoon was drawing in,
sow and young were fast asleep
as I crept in beside them,
adding to the sleepy heap.
What a shock Grandmother had
as she filled the trough next morning,
when out I staggered with the pigs,
still half asleep and yawning.
Off to Foreign Climes
The mighty river lapped and swirled
somewhere far below,
awaiting two adventurers
who had nowhere else to go.
This place had been selected
by Jimmy and his friend,
from a daylight visit
to this quayside at Gravesend.
The Tilbury lights were twinkling
far across the river,
a cold dank mist lay everywhere,
the two began to shiver.
Then they fixed attention
upon a bollardās rope
that had upon its lower end,
all their invested hope.
Then one by one descending,
they slithered far below,
into the inky blackness,
swinging to and fro.
Finally a searching foot
found the little boat,
but with water past their ankles,
they wondered āwould it floatā.
A baling can lay underfoot,
so this dispelled all mystery,
this dinghy yearned the riverbed
to disappear from history.
Fifteen minutes later,
the oars were in their place,
the Tilbury lights were targeted
and hearts began to race.
The plan they had concocted
for that seawards moving flow,
was row towards its centre
and they knew how far to go.
An hour passed and then they turned,
the plan had worked out right,
heading down the river
with their purpose now in sight.
A mighty vessel lay ahead
still anchored in its place,
three hundred yards between them
as the current gathered pace.
Jimmy turned their boat about
to make their progress slower,
but now the ebbing tide controlled
the dinghy and the rower.
Jimmyās friend was first to see
the white froth dead ahead,
propeller-blades were churning
and filled them both with dread.
This vessel sat much higher
than a loaded vessel should,
so propellers out of water
was more easily understood.
Jimmyās oars moved frantically
to save them from the maw
of the mighty ships āegg-beaterā,
bent on closing their lifeās door.
Then having done his utmost,
the ship and dinghy clashed,
slipping past the ghastly blades,
the dinghyās oar was smashed.
They impacted and rebounded
from off the vesselās rear,
into the bottom of their boat
with one oar left to steer.
Then the current dragged them
past the wall of steel
that towered high above them,
how small it made them feel!
This wasnāt like their comics,
where were the nets and ropes,
there were no means of climbing
on which theyād placed their hopes.
The dinghy speeded past the ship,
though minutes seemed like days,
carrying its cargo
of rebuffed stowaways.
Then they travelled seawards,
the ship now out of sight,
and gradually āpon every shore
so was every light.
Clouds were low and heavy,
blackening the smog,
the world seemed gone forever
from their dinghy in the fog.
But Jimmy kept on paddling
with the single oar,
relying on his instinct
to find a friendly shore.
Then the past intruded
that brought him to this place,
he was beaten with a stairrod,
and could see his fatherās face.
Escape came from a window,
he jumped the thirteen feet
and scarcely seconds later
he was nowhere in the street.
Late September in the woods
made a chilly night,
until he found a haystack
and that improved his plight.
Sister brought the bread and jam
but only when she could,
until the days turned into weeks,
heād be there ātill adulthood.
Then sister brought his friend along
and that was where it started,
both of them were in a ārutā,
so adventureās course was charted.
A distant foghorn brought him back
to focus on survival,
and wonder if a friendly shore
might welcome their arrival.
Jimmyās friend kept baling,
his mind had not forgotten
the dinghy with its yearning,
to rest the river bottom.
Then heavy skies looked lighter,
the mist began to clear,
then a distant shoreline,
so they both began to cheer.
But mud lay thick and treacherous
between the boat
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