Mans Identity To Man, The Present
Current mood: nostalgic
Category: Writing and Poetry

This is a writing that was based on the album cover of the Moody Blues,

The Present. At 1st, I thought it was  a a painting by Maxwell, aka
Maxfield Parrish, but it's not, just very similar.
It portrays two beings, one lying on the ground, facing the sky,
the other bending over the first with hand outstretched,
as if offering something to the other. Inside the outstretched hand is an X.
After doing some research I found out one of the things  it represents.
The X is a symbol of Man's Identity to Man. That is indeed, a present.
This is on one album cover side.
On another side the painting continues, with a space craft hovering above
and to the side of the beings. (Really beautiful artwork by The Studio.)
Anyway, this was the inspiration for my writing  Man's Identity To Man.

Man's Identity To Man

We search ourselves for every clue,
to what our true purpose in life may be.
Fighting disillusion and  worn by time,
we try to understand the things we percieve,
then, hope for the best in our human condition.

We'll travel our path from cradle to grave,
 seeking  others who were brought
from far away and for the same reason
wiping out hate and teaching compassion,
for healing, man's inhumanity to man.

Yet, we find indifference at every turn,
desensitized to suffering, so common place.
It feeds on the apathy which hides within
when we don't understand, it will seal our fate,
destroying the best of all mankind.

By remembering a universal dream,
we approach the truths of our humanness.
But if we lose faith in each other today,
no longer will our innocence be seen
in the gift of man's identity to man.

Lisbeth Hill

11:24 - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Simple Offerings
Category: Writing and Poetry

With mankinds unamed yearnings
we give small offerings
praying they'll be enough
for the lonely and tired
who hope they'll find the way
to give them all flight
away from empty night
with it's lofty wonders...
Who gives us the sight
to look beyond this day,
torn by silent thunder
of simple offerings?
Mankind strives, stirs and turns
then rises above, from love.
But we see souls of millions
in the eyes of our children,
hidden like sobs or sighs
for a world cast in gray...
will we turn them away
with small offerings?
Our hopes and our dreams
were long given, it seems
to a wish and a prayer
for answers to be given
like a whisper in the air
that might never be heard...
and except for the sight
of your eyes and your mind,
by what you give of your life
and the promises you keep...

It's just simple offerings.

Lisbeth Hill

19:44 - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

A chisel for a writers block
Category: Writing and Poetry

Rivulets

I question and I wonder
at this book halfway through.
I hear the rustling
of unwritten pages,
words of truth
yet unspoken,
where wisdoms
tenuous uncloaking
is but a mind frame away...
bordering on memory
enscribed within the tree.

Perhaps, at last...
when trusted page is filled
I'll have learned how to heal,
or how not to grieve.
But these rivulets
of honesty,
coursing down
furrowed valleys
 are etched deep
in the parchment
 then seared by a soul
 becoming
almost
unbearable to know.

                                                       Lisbeth Hill

21:27 - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

childhood dreaming...
Category: Writing and Poetry

Childhood Shadows

I am a seeker for things of beauty...
forlorn and forgotten, quiet and unheard.
I look inside our worlds hidden places, 
my eyes lit in wonder,
calling,
that they might awake from slumber.
See...
even as we speak they arise from long sleep.
Lake kelpies rear, flinging sea foam with a snort...
standing steadfast by their watery keep,
 patient in the moonlit night,
they wait for a small fearless rider
with gentle hands to guide them.
Look again...
forest sprites emerge from trees
merrily dancing, laughing,
throwing kisses of love...
simply because.
They leap onto sunbeams for a game of twinkle
and they wind run for the joy of being free.
Oh, those fanciful, forgotten shadows
are like fading memories
when we allow magic to sleep again.
But innocence can burn away the fog
with rays of childish trust.
Listen...
you can hear them faintly still...
the soft nicker of what manner of steed?
And tinkling laughs so sweet...
or are they sounds of bells floating through the air?
Yes, I answer them... I still care.

                                                      Lisbeth Hill

23:04 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Mystical poetry
Current mood: contemplative
Category: Writing and Poetry

Dream Dance

At the dawn of time with it's first breath,
explore the wonders not governed by death.
If magic's found in a wonderment,
why can't we explain the dreams we've dreamt?

 In glimmers of hope, defences shaken,
we remember a familiar haven.
A light hovers in the twilight mist,
offering shelter to those adrift.

Hearts once lost have been captured,
riveted, by what's known as rapture.
Do you dream dance on a bridge of thought
when the timeless zone has you caught?

When thoughts strike amidst human confusion,
enlightening bolts tear the veils of illusion.
A quest leading through mystical lands
will give truths to those who understand.

A timeless table, transformed and whole
is shared by many a wandering soul.
Dreams come to us from unknown source,
why can't we explain what they reinforce?

As thoughts are released from repressive webs,
insights will lead us through what's ahead.
We hope to discern the answers to why,
can reasons be clear without their reply?

Life's tapestry remains ever changing,
the colours of love endow it with meaning.
When we progress through our seasons in time
we'll learn how to weave our future's design.

                                                                    Lisbeth Hill

21:27 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

An optimist & a pessimist
Category: Life

                The optimist & the pessimist                  
met for lunch declaring truce...  
One said:
"the restaurant could've been better, 
 cobwebs & spiders are hanging in the corner"
The other said:
"They're  doin' alright, catching flies
and they're not in our dinner"


 
They returned to their thoughts 
and the window to view
gray skies and pouring rain...
One said : 
"Look at today, it's so grim
and foreboding"
The other said:
"Mmmm,
yet, that raindrop is pretty"

                                          Lisbeth Hill

23:17 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

The Night Crawl Jam
Category: Writing and Poetry

The Night Crawl Jam

Here I am, crawling through the night
wide awake & slightly demented,
and I wonder what it's all about
when boogie men  do their night crawl thing.
The cats are wailing & carrying on
while hounds of doom howl at the gloom.
They mixed it up with such crazy sound
that the boogie men smiled,
then they started to sing.

Now, an eerie moon was on the rise
and the wind whipped at my face.
I raised my eyes in awed surprise
as boogie men jam, loud as they can.
The hounds were nippin' at my heels
so I swallowed a nip myself
cuz now I'm gettin' into the feel
of boogie men doin' that night crawl thing.

After awhile, when the clock struck four
and eyes were shining redly,
my foot still tapped out of control
while boogie men jammed with maniac grins.
When a murky sun began to shine
and my head was beginning to spin...
I heard them say, we'll see you again
when boogie men do their night crawl thing.

                                                    Lisbeth Hill

21:05 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

A poem about New Orleans
Current mood: melancholy
Category: Writing and Poetry

This is the story behind the writing of the poem, Lady Of The Bayou.

I had been contacted to write something for this book, Best Poets & Poems of 2005. So I decided to send what I had written for New Orleans right when the flooding was going on. It was so hard to watch what was happening there. It was heart wrenching. As New Orleans was being covered with flood water there was a music fest going on in Rockford & my brother came by to say I had to go hear Sonny Landreth who was playing there. I wasn't familiar with him but I decided to go ahead, since watching all the footage of New Orleans was tearing me up. It turned out that Sonny's home is in southern LA. and what I heard that evening was outstanding.  I kept hearing that music as I started writing for New Orleans the next day. If you ever have a chance to go listen to Sonny play, do it, you won't be sorry. Hearing him during that time had a lot to do with the way Lady Of The Bayou turned out. Dedicated to a much loved city & written while listening to Sonny Landreth.

Lady Of The Bayou

Katrina flew ashore like a wild bird of prey
devouring the coast and all in it's way.
Waves of fury claimed the land as it's own
breaching the levees of New Orleans town...
lady of the bayou and jewel of the south.

All came to pass as it was foretold
many, oh so many years ago.
Engulfed in a deadly and toxic brew,
what will we find as we uncover you,
lady of the bayou and jewel of the south?

What will we do to protect her now
when her wetlands surrounding are losing ground?
What will we build against the onslaught of waves
when her natural defence has been washed away?
What will we do to ensure each day is safe
in our lady of the bayou and jewel of the south?

These days, my hearts wanderin' down Louisiana way,
these days, memories are what I keep safe.
Her story's far from over and it's still being told
 'bout how nothing of this world could destroy 
New Orleans soul...
lady of the bayou and jewel of the south.

                                                         Lisbeth Hill
 

21:12 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Song & a prayer
Category: Writing and Poetry

Song and a Prayer

20:00 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

In memory and with love for (Catfish) John Robert Pritchett, who lived his life from 1954-2005
Category: Writing and Poetry

A song for Catfish John

How do I begin to tell you goodbye
if I still see your face in my minds eye?
For better or worse, you lived each day
in each moment and only a song away.

Your time frame in life, too quickly was done.
Your race to the finish, too hastily run.
Yet, on your way there you left your mark,
and the imprint is here, safe in our hearts.

Your time keepers hands were leading you away
and all our best intentions weren't enough to make you stay.
But a silent shroud lifts and comfort is found,
heard within the sounds of your lingering songs.

Your spirit's set free and is chained no more
to mortal fraility's... nor to human woes.
To the other side of life a dreamer flew,
believing in dreams
and that dreamer was you.

Dream on, John and dream well...
for the dreams you believed in
cast their own spell.

                                                                  Lisbeth Hill

14:58 - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

For the sake of friendship
Category: Writing and Poetry

Bridge to a friend

If I constructed a bridge to a friend
could it be used for a meeting of minds?
Would it be strong enough and long enough
to withstand the ravages of time?
Or would it crumble between the barriers
we erected in self preservation?
Would you hesitate to cross over
because caution is at your shoulder,
whispering, beware...
who knows what you'll find
if you take that step on a bridge to a friend.
Yet you might wonder as you gaze across to it's end
at a radiation... flickering and beckoning,
like some sign that exists
because of and for friendship.
When trust comes into focus, did you expect it?
Can you reject it?
Might you even try it,
despite caution at your shoulder?
This bridge to a friend is solid yet mystic,
spanning reality, dreaming and believing
in what holds true.
It's there for you,
to take just one step across it's expanse...
caution, falling from your shoulders at last.

Lisbeth Hill

21:11 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

A write for the road
Category: Writing and Poetry

Dreams of Far Away

Will you feed the hunger
of roads you'll meet
when it's dangerous,
oh so dangerous
in those dark alleys
and moonlit streets
that call and call,
make you startle and fall
until you wonder...
was it worth it all?
It's so dangerous
you tremble to know
the mystery and glow
of neon lights
and traffics flow.
You race to highways
unknown by time
then begin to realize
you've got to get flyin'...
but it's so dangerous
if you lose yourself
along the way,
when what you've found
is enough to make you stay.
Then you're mesmerized
by dreams of far away.
And it's dangerous,
oh, so dangerous
when you get tantalized
by what you surveyed.

Lisbeth Hill

19:14 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

This was written right after I woke up one morning
Current mood: calm
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

I awoke one morning, as if from a vision... I sat down at the table and wrote this
witin minutes. It was the closest I've ever come  to the feeling of channeled writing.
It felt just as if  it had written itself. Because of the way it came to me, I feel it has a special message of hope.

  In Clouds

The dreamer slumbers, sinking deeper in sleep

but the spirit rises with mysteries to greet.

Once the spirit has flown, it will shoot past the stars

to see holiness and truths in this universe of ours.

The clarity frees in that one step beyond

and the spirit's in tune with all harmonious sound.

Embracing it, with much love from within

the power will expand as we see where we've been.

Telepathy reveals those other spirits sent,

dancing, like swirling mist in etheral firmament.

Populating the stars and building cities of light,

wanderers all, they're as jewel in his sight.

The loved one comes forth with overflowing chalice.

In clouds, spirits wait before a shimmering palace

to drink of the sun and of lifes sweet nectar

while love spills out in rays from his scepter.

The dreamer awakens for now all is clear,

those dreams of tomorrow are drawing near.

Return to the spring that drink which was given

then perhaps... we'll all catch a glimpse of heaven.

Lisbeth Hill

19:16 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Beauty
Category: Writing and Poetry

Beauty

Free will was given, that we may choose

the road we'll travel of happiness or blues.

We try so hard to find our way

to the heart of the matter, or so we say.

We're creating our own reality

when we change our minds locality

and we can't blame anyone but ourselves,

should we put the truth up on a shelf.

We need to see that happiness is there

with giving of love for all to share.

Each day, try to make better than before,

in helping this world, we'll reap our reward.

We soften the battle scars of life

as we reach for gifts that have no price.

A higher will permeates every action

of goodness developed and given sanction.

We'll find contentment in truly being

in the simple enchantment of unabashed seeing.

The time is now, open flood gates wide

to pour the best of us... out, from inside.

Once we do that, we will know...

beauty...

 and from us it will flow.

Lisbeth Hill

21:26 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment