Night is True!

Pic by William Blake

Pic by William Blake

For ‘t needs no mask.
Night abounds, surrounds,
absorbs and whispers.

Secrets bourne on silence,
or at the most,
on the rustling of the winds.

Beings leave their bodies,
useless, senseless,
for no soul to behold.

And we, its children,
revert to our truest form.
Ageless, essential, primal.

Screaming for the light,
the one that none can see,
but was there since the dawn.

(By Ralphie A Burcke)


What if the Lord came back today?

"Cleric, Knight, and Workman": the t...

“Cleric, Knight, and Workman”: the three estates in a French medieval illumination (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What if the Lord came back today?
What do you think He would say?

What if the Lord looked into your heart…
And told you not to hate in His name!

What if He came and looked into your eyes?
Would you hold His gaze or look away?

What if Jesus Christ came back…
and nobody listened, nobody cared?

What if He came back today,
and decided not to stay?

Listen For The Silence!

The Crow by Ralphie

The Crow by Ralphie

Listen for the silence,
underlying all the noise.

Harken and listen well,
for it is there, all-knowing.

Only the silence of the mind
can bring full meaning.

Only the stillness of the heart
may encompass true love.

In the emptiness of being
lie all answers.

(by Ralphie A Burcke)


Ode to a Tree.



Whatever makes a tree
want to be a tree?
Rooted in the ground,
instead of roaming free?

To hold together the earth,
serve as home to legions,
convert poisons into air…
Be a true being of magic.

A creature of energy,
renewing itself always,
in concentric rings
of ageless power.

Next time you meet a tree,
bow your head in awe,
be very humble
and give thanks!

Where Have All The Trees gone?

They matter, first and foremost!
They are the serene breath,
and soulmates of us all.
They should be treasured!

The present smells so putrid,
of death for future generations.
A prison made from dreams gone sour,
of concrete, steel and ugliness.

The demigods and nymphs of old,
have been replaced by meat,
fit only for consumption,
by pigs with capital pees.

The earth is past its sell-by date.
It should be trashed and binned.
Shall we replace with another?
Where have all the trees gone?



Image by Kimberly Maclean

Image by Kimberly Maclean

People call us weird… for loving life?
Or for seeing through the bullshit?
And ’cause a simple sunset melts our hearts?
Maybe for finding beauty, where you see drab?

If you were to express your feelings in a poem,
or whistle a tune, invented on the spot,
just for the heck of it, or to show you’re glad,
would that mean that you were mad?

Did you ever dream of anonymous faces,
transformed by a smile, just for a while…
and of the anonymous becoming friends?
Perhaps it takes art for wars to end!

In Search of a Chair.

“For years I said if I could only find a comfortable chair I would rival Mozart.” – Morton Feldman

Image from

Image from

From Ralphie:

I set off…

in search of a chair,

not any old thing,

but one that enveloped

my spirit and soul,

a conduit for my muse,

and above all,

a safe haven

from distraction.

In which to think

monumental thoughts,

as deep as the sea,

spanning the heavens

and the mountains below.

After eons of searching,

I found this great treasure,

and brought it home.

I admired it for weeks,

before venturing to sit

in its hallowed seat

and started to think…

or at least I tried,

but nothing would come.

I’d spent all my energy

and all my deep thoughts

on devising a way

to get at my goal,

and having found it,

saw that I’d lost.

Share in Beltane…

Image by  Sin Madison

Image by
Sin Madison

Let us prance and kiss berries,
And let’s swoon at the Moon…
Let us fart at our demons,
And drink wine with a spoon…

Let us curse all traditions,
And invite a new past…
Let us wallow in change,
and forget all we knew…

Let us brew a bright life,
and make love to a flower…
Let us braid the Moon’s beams,
and shower in stars…

Let us stare in the fire,
for many long hours…
Let us welcome the elders,
and share in Beltane…

Silvery Majesty.

Image by

Image by

Staring in you beauteous eyes,
I sometimes spy an older you,
in a mellow future dream,
of utter trust and silent understanding.

A vision of silvery majesty,
luxuriating in spent urgency,
as need blossoms into sharing,
along ages of lilting laughter.

A lake filled with tears of joy,
to relax our still-smiling bones in,
with the beat of our contented hearts
singing lullabies to one another.


A Farmer I Would Be!

MDG : Seed and GM in Africa : Plowing a field and sowing seeds in Ethiopia

When I grow up,
I would be a farmer,
who sows seeds of light
in pockets of sorrow.

Who cultivates smiles
in moments of distress
and listening ears
for those in need of one.

Who shares what he reaps,
with every living being
of the land, sea and air.
Will you meet me there?

The hand of Mother Nature…

Image from Andrea Velame

Image from Andrea Velame

The hand of Mother Nature
cradles her many children
in the gentlest of ways,
to keep them safe from harm.

Nimbly and sure-footed,
across intersecting tightropes,
she balances our greedy needs,
against the greater good of all.

Like all good mothers would,
she protects her flesh and blood,
who by their mindless straying
would surely come to fall.

(A-) Wake!?

Dancing under the moon

Dancing with the deaf
to an emerging loony tune,
played by a lonely angel,
in the eye of the Moon.

A heart beats the drum
of its insane longing
for the silence after death,
the release from clamour.

A soul holds still and waits,
for the shedding of matter,
a reunion with the source,
from whence it gushed forth.



Falling water,
twists around itself,
to catch every minute ray,
and stare dumb and found
at the rainbow
it creates.

Water still and mute,
entices mighty Moon,
to enter its hallowed being,
for to whisper secrets,
as foretold by the heavens,
of the weaving of time.

Water rushes onwards,
screaming mad with fury,
at the injustice of it all,
to eradicate the slate,
and start anew and wait,
limpid clear as before.

The Monthly Climax.

Image: Note di Emozioni

Image: Note di Emozioni

The blood Moon rises,
full-breasted and aglow.
She stands tall and stares,
never once blinking.

Forever bound to Earth,
in a rhythmic dance,
with mesmerizing tides,
of longing and of sharing.

Pulsing, thrusting, needing,
until the monthly climax
brings forth the miracle
of her children’s dreaming.

Turning the Tables.

From Ralphie:

My demons are back, yes… again!,
but instead of fighting them,
I hugged them instead,
thereby turning them into friends,
which surprised them no end.

Gone is the enmity, gone is the fear.
Surprising, what a change of perspective can clear.
Kindness is a way of life, a way of being,
especially gentleness granted oneself.

For My Friend: Paul Davenport.

If you wish to know the real me,
you should see me with my friends,
my family, my brothers from the street,
those who have seen it all,
and still came out laughing!

Yes, you, you do not see me or them,
you judge, you ignore, you do not know,
what went on before.

My friend Paul, who is no more,
who planted forests in his days,
who had property in Belize,
was found dead and took away,
for stinking up the neighbourhood.

Why did he drink, you ask yourself,
as did I, who drank aswell…
Well, not until my lady died,
did I understand, what he was about.

I came told him the news,
and he hugged me, as friends do,
and told me: “It will pass!”
Then my friend, whom I thought I knew,
told me a snippet of his tale:

“It happened to me aswell, and more than once,
my friend, five times was I to be wed,
and five times they were lost,
to me, the world and their family.”

I queried: “How in the world do you endure?”
He answered: “One day at a time, me boy!”

And now, my friend, dear Paul, he is no more.
No more kind words from his smiling face,
but Paul, you still are here,
for not in a zillion years shall you be forgotten!

Words Are Not Me!

downloadWords are not me,
they detract from the value of me,
I am ‘me’, not this or maybe that,
I am ME, can you not see?

You would persist to give me form,
to conform to your norm,
but NO, I am but me, just me,
I wish you could see, just me.

To call me a poet, to call me a cad,
is an injustice to me, me old lad.
For to add an adjective to a soul
is an insult to the being.

I do not need your perspective
to exist, for I merely AM,
yours, ours , but mostly just mine.
I wish you were blind!

For to see is an illusion,
to hear is a betrayal,
I am pure energy, I ‘am’!
NOT your opinion, so sorry, but NO!

News of Great Portent!

 Lost Fairy by Pygar

Lost Fairy by Pygar

I shall spin a web of wily tales,
for spiders to ponder,
and mutter in wonder:
“A marvel ‘t falls not asunder!”

For bees to buzz around,
inquisitive-like and nosy,
and perhaps to drop some honey,
to sweeten it even more.

Fire-flies ‘ll burst into flame,
at the magic of its splendour,
asking themselves the meaning,
or the purpose of this riddle’s plot.

And the pixies, they shall come,
from far away in faery land they’ll flock,
to carry back these tales of light,
to the King that holds all secrets.

For Him to proclamate aloud to all,
and p’rhaps even to sundry,
this news of great portent,
that a true bard is born again.

Another Now.

Optical Illusion

Optical Illusion (Photo credit: micahb37)

To the memories that are no more,
that never were, that were just lies,
to illusions of the hope-drunk fool,
I raise my hat in jest, I smile forlorn.

I turn to dream instead of that sad wake,
though wakes are for those who passed,
and pass I shall, pass on to another now,
a now of one and not of two, and not of you.

(by Ralphie)

Cradle of Perfection.



Through the strands that connect the stars
flows a sense of ripeness like old wine,
a nurturing warmth that knows no harm,
that flowery feeling of budding spring.

Gathering lighted souls along the way,
it winds forth through newborn space,
and patiently, but steadfast doth create
a cradle of perfection for all living beings.

(by Ralphie)