Archive | January 2015

Spirit Of The Skies

Ethereal and unseen
for eternity a friend,
guiding all in reticence.
forgiving until the end.

An ever faithful guardian
philosophical and wise,
mysterious in movement
a free spirit of the skies.

In nurturing the dreamers
and inspiring them to hope,
giving strength to all the lost
giving love for them to cope.

In nature of creation
we’re all intimately blessed,
in precious gifts of living
by the patron of our quests.

©Jacqui Slade

Chaperone Of Souls

Orbital eccentric
no atmosphere to hold,
tempered by blazing fire
in silver you are cold.

Seraphic in commerce
and divination trade,
a hallowed messenger
of wishes to convey.

Friend to thieves and poets
resplendent in their eyes,
glittering in sunshine
your contradictions rise.

Beautiful yet cratered
in underworlds you’re whole,
inertia of feeling
a chaperone of souls.

©Jacqui Slade

Fashion

Poetry is in fashion
if you have got the passion,
words to wear style and design
in patterns of crafted rhymes.

Dress the ideas your mind wore,
clothe your mind in metaphors.
Outfit your verse with your life
writing of love, truths and strife.

Cut the fabric of your prose,
in the meters you compose.
Expressing hearts latest fad,
sew and model concepts had.

Material penned in soul,
lyrically it takes control.
Your brain in craze of the mode,
it’s attire another ode.

Its trend flows in harmony,
dance and let your spirit free.
Strut in rap adorn your feet
with rhythm verse and a beat.

©Jacqui Slade

Ice Giant

Complex and layered,
atmospherically
cloudy, the ice giant
falls vanquished in time.

His cyan cloak a shroud
of glacial tears.
The celestial rain
bears his severance.

Encompassed in bands
of dust love was lost.
Electrifying his
rage searing in blue.

Frozen in eons
emasculated
and old he dances
in the newest moons.

©Jacqui Slade

Neptune

A repost –

From the icy crowns

of his moons he swims,

with tridentate dreams

through pink snows.

.

The cosmic waves

receptive to his

torrid winds swirl,

in clouds of effluvium.

.

His sea is celestial

a cold ocean of stars,

infinitely surrounding

his isle of brilliant blue.

.

On a dolphin he rides

through dawns of creation,

spiralling into darkness

a spirit of the skies.

.

©Jacqui Slade

©Jacqui Slade

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Pick me up!

Take a break
and
Pick me up!
And then you too
can read about
Real People,
and have a
Women’s Weekly
dose of
true life tales
about other people’s misery.

All just for this weeks special low
bargain price of 55p!

In the latest colourful issue
of yet another lurid
pulp magazine,
you can leaf through
the saga’s and the drama’s
of scorned women,
victims of violence,
the terminally ill,
lunatics,
dysfunction,
next doors dog,
and how some people like to keep it in the family.

Sensationally
lifting the gloom
from all the adversity
of hard done by females
and all their ails,
in some kind of
tragic comedy
of life.
With eye catching headlines –

Mum your beards longer than mine,
the bride’s stuck on the loo,
is it my fault my son is obese?
and
a poltergeist ravaged our xmas
turkey!

Or meanwhile
if you’ve got a story of woe
or would like to sell
your dirty laundry,
you can sell it for a
two hundred and fifty pound fee,
and then maybe save the money
to buy a new forty two inch tv
to watch Jeremy Kyle on.

So relax,
get a real life and
sit down with a
nice cup of tea,
and the latest copy.

You can sit and
nod your head and tut
in sympathy as
you read, the feature
on page thirty three
about the woman who
lost ten stone
because her husband
said she was fat.
Charming!

Perhaps flick through
and try your luck with this weeks
prize winning crossword
or one of them anyway.
You could win a weekend away,
five hundred pound,
shopping vouchers,
a food processor
or some shampoo.
Or if that doesn’t appeal to you,

as an avid reader of our
speciality rag of
disaster,
cheating spouses,
murder,
diet fads
and
PMT
then feel free to
send us a silly selfie,
or some other photo
as so many regulars do

religiously traipsing
down to the post box,
with their envelope and
sixty two pence
first class stamp.

In the hope it will be a picture of
their grandchild on a swing,
their cute puppy,
karaoke granny,
hen night,
cat in a hat
or holiday snaps
that will feature
on the letters page.
And they will be so proud
to tell their family and friends
and get fifty pound for the privilege too!

And before you get up
in disregard your fingers
turning the cover
to think of what you’re going to
cook for tea.
Why don’t you whip
up one of our delicious
money saving value recipes
on page twenty seven,
for your family.
And surprise them
with something different
and they would never
know that you had it in you,
and they’ll think you’re
some kind of culinary virtuoso
like that posh lady
off the telly
Nigella.

So
Pick me up!
Take a break
You know you’ll
Love it!

©Jacqui Slade

Back To The Future

In times to come
prospective vacations
may not be in the
glossy paged brochures,
that promise you a dream
of perfection.

A week or two of Utopia
to cram into your suitcase
along with your new clothes
sun cream
and a novel or two
to read on the beach.

There’ll be no
inoculations to
protect you from
some manky disease,
all inclusive of

Mediterranean olives,
sangria,
ancient ruins,
flight delays
and baggage allowance.

Or vistas of villas
and grotty hotels,
with a never ending
landscape view
of some paradisicial
building site.

And long forgotten
will be the way
people used to travel
in exhaust fumes
pollution and
endless motorway queues.

No fanciful flights
and having to get up
in the middle of the night,
to soar on the wings
of a metal bird
with a ready meal,
a movie,
and a few hundred
other people.

No more being
driven insane
waiting for a train,
which of course
will always be running late.
And trying to squeeze

past in narrow aisles
with baggage and
commuters all
squished together
in an electrified
sardine tin.

Which will then be diverted
because a leaf has been
blown onto the track
fifty miles down the line!

No that will be the stuff
of long gone memories,
or legends that tell of
unconfirmed stories how
that was the way things
used to be,

and maybe written in
history books that was the
way that people used to travel,
relax and have a break
and our future selves will
mock us and laugh
at the absurdity of it all.

Holidays will be
taken in the present day
tales of Huxley’s
Brave New World
or some other
tale of science fiction
or how humankind
will be.

Whereby money
is obselete,
and we are all just
gear wheels,
genetically modified
to be controlled
and serve a purpose
for the powers that be.

The handful of
world controllers,
corrupt rich
and greedy,

and no longer
individuals.

Coinage will be
pills or a shot
away from reality.
For as long as you want
and wherever you
wish you could be
in Palm trees,
sands
and the bluest of seas.

Making all of your dreams
of foreign destinations,
exotic adventure
and siestas come true.
Without the stress
or the obligation

because you’ve
saved so hard,
worked relentlessly
for a whole year
and sold half your soul
to pay for it all.

To be committed
if things are not
to your liking.
Which they will be,
because it will
be the ultimate package
of languishing
in luxury.

Able to return
anytime you want,
revitalised and
with fortitude
from your chemical
induced trip,
and think about
how much fun
you had on your own;

and now ready to
endure the insanity
and the truth and horror
of existence in
a totalitarian state.
Ready to get on with
life.

If living is what
they call it then.

Or maybe the cogs
in the mechanisms
of our brain
will somehow
be switched on
by scientists
and technology.
Enabling us to

spirit ourselves away
for a day or two
in time travel.
To spiral through
time warps and
some kind of
telepathic
teleportation.

We could go back
and relive all of
the best bits and
the cherished days
that have past
which made us
smile and laugh.

Maybe life would be
less painful and loss
would be extinguished.
If we could return for
a day or a few and book

a week from a faded year
and say ask for time off
for seven days in 1982.
Or any day, month, year or
moment that
has gone but
meant everything
to you
at the time.

Then memories
would always last,
we would all
then be
immortal

if we could holiday
and visit the
dear departed.

Relive physically
the precious breaths
embraces
and see their
skin and faces.

To hear their
voices again,
better than any
heavenly aria
or instrumental din,
lyrical genius
of some song
you hear on the radio
a hundred times a day.

In quantum physics
we could all get away,
and escape to
a parallel universe
where we are
still together.

Or to even be
teleported hundreds
of miles or to the
other side of the world,
to able to spend time even
five minutes to
share a joke,
laugh,
and talk to
with loved one,
family,
friends.
The ones your
heart beats for.
Would be like a
little holiday that
thousands of people
would dream of!

Although of course
there would have
to be a limit
on how often
we could traverse
in this way
looking back,

as it does nobody
any good spending
too much time
living in days
and with ghosts
of what was
or to think of
what might
have been.

So it is we must
all go on
with our mundane lives
when a wheel falls off
but we trundle on
because that’s
way of nature
and of life.

But to have the chance
to relive through space
time and atoms,
and revisit is a
chance many people
would dream of,
and then go back
to the future.

Untold but in
our minds
surreal and
melting down
in imagination.

That’s what the psychics
and seers would say
Déjà vous.

And it’s probably best
not to know anyway,
when so many might not
have the courage to
keep soldiering on
tirelessly walking
battling through life.

Our times to come
in transportation and rest,
have been written
in the pens of
Victorian writers
and modern day
script writers.

As science
ever evolves,
and the innovation
of genius and madness
unfold.

Where ever our destiny
takes us we are all free
to travel in dreams
unrestricted.

Who knows what
journeys lie
ahead of us in life,
where they will take us,
how long they will last.
The wheels turn too fast
and the world stops spinning.

©Jacqui Slade

Hope

Believe in hope
in life be wise,
silver linings
in the grey skies.

Believe there is
in all that’s tough,
when clouds obscure
and life is rough.

Believe in times
miasma’s past,
remembering that
storms don’t last.

Believe that life
in it’s weather,
is changeable
and is forever

unpredicted
it’s downpours come,
can make you cold
and make you numb.

but soon the sun
in all its kind,
just will breakthrough
and you will find

belief that there are
are brighter days,
gone is all of
the foggy haze.

©Jacqui Slade

Agnes

The arctic crescent though pale guides the way,

as apparitions of the fated who

maidens in prophetic wish come to stay;

chant renditions of winters icy hues.

In frost love is sought and pined for near spruce.

True hearts desired and destiny’s foretold,

the witching hour strikes ritual grains strew;

whispering in January’s cold –

“Sweet Agnes of days of old, will true love I behold?”

 

Silent and contrary abstinence held

in ceremonial hope rites revered,

naked and yearning to heavens impelled

in faith for Agnes customs persevered.

The essence of the betrothed will appear,

showing the future as she sleeps to dream

of an amorous face she’s not afeard.

The stars are twinkling and the moonlight beams,

her stag her suitor deemed, of him she caught a gleam.

 

The forests will sleep, the Oak moon will wane.

Hallucinating her beau by her side.

Tender the kiss from her nocturnal swain,

in their ecstasy her soul fills with pride;

devoured in sweethearts she will be his bride.

Agnes foreshadows lives bound forever,

patron of purity she is their guide.

Her optics of wedlock the soles treasure,

Agnes in her pleasure binds lone hearts together.

 

©Jacqui Slade