Archive | May 2015

Money 

Money

Paper,

Metal,

Fought for,

Killed for,

Suffered for,

Worked for,

Lived for

and without it

you die – over a

piece of paper

or a little metal disc.

Man made concepts

that you exchange

for some food

and a bit of warmth.

But soon to become obsolete

like everything else

in the future technologies

and the fables will tell

of its existence.

Think of a time not that long past

like when people were

paid cash in a small brown envelope

at the end of the working week

every Friday.

Seems so long ago,

and that’s the way it goes

with evolution.

The interest is growing

from the powers that be

in their advancing technology,

of the lives of you and me.

And so our souls will be leased

for eternity

bartering

with microchips

because

the all prying eyes will see,

what you had for tea

if you’re eating healthily

a diet they would approve of.

The books that you read

your preference in movies,

exercise at your leisure

the true cost of advancements,

and your activity will be

paid for

by retinas

and fingerprints,

Computerised compliance

for acceptance.

Tales will tell of

silver once crossing

the palms of new born babes

and the loose change given

to some poor homeless guy

out on the streets

to buy a nice hot cup of tea,

and generations to come

will be in awe of our humanity

and think it rather odd

that we would gift or lend

pieces of paper and

circles of bronze

to friends and family

if they were in need

not understanding

a sense of charity.

They’ll be on a equal footing

in some god forsaken poverty

where they’re all redundant

to machines

Survival of the fittest

paying for existence

spirits traded

in a robotic commerce.

©Jacqui Slade

Broken Wings 

Oh my dear little fledgling  

in anxiety you lie,

your feathers ruffled fearing

but my love will help you fly.

.

Oh my dear little darling,

your chirping cannot be heard,

non verbal you screech and flap

my beautiful baby bird.

.

Oh my dear little chick chick

in your disability,

I see the things you can do

and your possibility

.

Oh my dear little beauty

broken wings will matter not,

because you try in earnest

to build on the skills you’ve got.

.

You’ll always be my baby

my true love is guiding you,

spinning in your autism

in happiness flapping too.

.

©Jacqui Slade

Blue Skies 

Brilliantly dreams fly, hope shineS. 

Leaving behind the obscure darK,

Unscrupulous in antI

Elation and embedding bluE

Shadows of pitiful SorrowS.

Kaleidoscopic moods climB

Instincts wistful in survivaL

Exchanging happiness in lieU

Skies clear in ever changing huE.

©Jacqui Slade

Three a.m

Three a.m knows all my secrets 

they are all written in the stars,

universally parallel

in future dreams and wishes past.

.

Three a.m endlessly generous

in its silent charity,

forever answering questions

giving all thoughts some clarity.

.

Three a.m is always trusted

to be a consort of the night,

when all slumber is elusive

it’s serenity is a guide

.

to help all the restless eyelids

and all the minds that overthink,

shut all their inner turmoil out

and find repose in sleep filled blinks.

.

©Jacqui Slade

Midnight Cocktail 

I drink a cocktail of moonlight

and my spirit is harmonised 

with the shadows and the whispers,
of the pallid waifs at twilight.

.

Intoxicated by starlight

my heart sparkles in its desire

ignited, the darkness guides me.

No fear, inhibitions swallowed.

.

Tripping through its luminous bow,

inebriated dancing

with silhouettes and laser beams

on a celestial dance floor.

.

The essence of the free party

in the afterglow of revelry,

hangs over in the ecstasy

and the lunacy of moonshine.

.

©Jacqui Slade

Relics

The deep sea mystery 

swathed in turquoise hues,

drowning in the relics

barnacles cling to stone.

.

The carved faces remain

statuesque and ancient.

In the watery depths

a monument plays host

.

to civilisations

lost. Aqueous eons

for discovery and to

fathom in their wonder

.

at the beauty of it

all and its creation.

In exploration and

waves history floats past.

.

©Jacqui Slade