Category Archives: Folklore

Ramblers’ Love Songs

The gifted man

He carries a ukulele in his hand

Whenever the mood takes him

He takes to a lay-by 

And strums a tune that’s taken shape in his mind

He lives a ramblers’ life

And swears the earth whispers the tune to his spirit

Subliminally, between footfalls

To play it back to her to hear and enjoy

Upon a night, even the crickets have been heard to fall silent

As he keeps her company till dawn

When he falls asleep at daybreak

She keeps the shade over his eyes, 

To keep him from waking without a proper respite

This routine will continue until his final breath escapes him,

And is buried by those that find him 

To be welcomed into her arms.

Viking: Resilience

Darkness envelopes the land,

Leaving folks at mercy of long crippling winters, and fleeting summers;

When even seasoned farmers must take up arms,

To guard their stores and each other from raiders or rivals of every variety;

And abide the long nights,

When, savagery is the only birthright,

For, in this unforgiving cold:

You fought and lived, or resigned to die;

No room for the weak, when the divide is so slight;

Hope guides the hand,

And in that calloused grip is an axe drenched in blood,

Wielded decisively in the heart of battle,

In a practised ritual of blood sacrifice,

For the Gods’ are rarely merciful,

And an honourable death, worthy of the glory of Valhalla,

Is the only vaunted prize.

Divinity of the Dancer!

A goddess on the dance floor;

Rhythm is her divinity

If this place be the cradle of life;

And music is the root of all self-awareness,

She is the first to experience the beat of the drumming and mimic her body into motion,

Inspiring all to answer her call to arms by standing-up-right!

Many millennia may have passed since that fateful moment,

Is it still any wonder these rhythms and movement resonate within you and I?

Her acolytes still gather to watch her sermons;

Her movements are the orator,

And her body is a testament to her dedication and artistry;

An idol worthy of worship, forged with grace and favour;

Are we not all misfits in comparison?

Looking on at this exquisite creature for answers,

With prayers and offerings for salvation;

A shadow dancer of old, making contortions in slow-motion ;

Leaving all that befall her fanatics enthralled and slack-jawed, even after all this time,

Belying the truth: we have not evolved as much as we’d like to believe;

And remain mesmerised by the beauty of movement given life!

Law is a Weapon

The law is a double-edged sword that swings both ways;

Use it wisely, & you’ll be glad of it someday

‘Rush in haste, & repent at leisure’, they oft-say (and, in this context, it’s true!)

For the law is a man-made *process*, administered by fallible men (like you and me),

Not to be mistaken for deliverance from all the vicissitudes of life (in Shakespeare’s words)-,

By something akin to divinity!

Starlight: Twilight

The stars that bore witness to your birth, make up your star sign;

It means that every nuance of your life, death, and your previous lives, are chartered-

Like the detailed maps guiding ships across vast oceans, by twilight,

Entrusted by sailors with their lives, since ancient times,

Silent sentinels standing unflinching witness to the happenings of human, animal & nature alike,

Undoubtedly, filling volumes with the detail of their observations of our lives-

Like scientists taking turns to obsessively record every little happening on a Petri dish ,

Adhering to strict control measures, at all times:

Observing cells form, meander & replicate, under microscopes,

Like watching a plant gradually grow from seed to flowering;

Measuring the passage of our centuries in milliseconds,

And charting the individual strands that makeup the course of our lives-

Creating an ever-evolving Muriel that belie the scary & beautiful human truth that is:

We can *all* change the stars of our lives!

Embers of Violence

Embers of violence burning bright

In the remains of a storm of virulent night

A creature wreathed in ambient glow; moving with stealth, intent and purpose, through a vista of sprawling carnage,

The wreckage doth be strewn every which way;

With survivor & survived, amongst devastation; still in the throws of a dazed, confused, befuddled display,

To a chorus of sounds voicing a thousand thousand ills,

Is the setting for a primeval tabula rasa of hunter, prey and kill

In this terrible melee, the echo of a multitude of screams do rise;

But, be they borne out of terror, fear, remorse or, brute violence, none yet have the wit to surmise,

What ever way the end cometh- it cometh, it’s true,

With  survivor & survived, left to  grieve, mourn, and move on:

Memories do fade, like what happened yesterday-

And, over time, are gradually reshaped to dull & mottle the bitter harsh light of that terrible day

Hard lessons learnt are eventually un-learnt,

Thus- when history repeats,  people are not forewarned & are left ill-prepared,

Therefore, it is not a conceit when  this creature of opportunity and violence is stirred awake in the wake of disaster once more;

When, the full circle complete, for this cycle at least, the beast is left unchallenged, to wreak havoc yet more!