Wednesday, June 22, 2005


one part sunny bliss
and one part cloudy kiss,
one part soldier brave
and an other fretful slave,
one part moving
and an idle part so still,
sometimes half empty -
other times half filled
a demi optimist
or a semi pessi,
a mother and a father,
a brother and a sis,
one flap flamingo pink
then baby blue eye wink,
two parts that box away
like fighters in a rink


a friend said :
‘set a pace, you’re all over the place’
“oh, do allow me to disagree,
i suspect you’ve never hugged a tree…”
i proceeded to explain
how circumstance once made me a hippy
he looked at me kinda strange
as if i was deeply dippy
i said:
“have you ever planted a seed
and cared to watch it grow?
it’s quite a deed
like no other i've come to know…”
he said:
but how ‘bout now?
you can’t reap this seed you’ve sown’
“but i’ve seen it bud and sprout
watched it blossom out...”
‘but how about harvest?
do you not feed a starved nest?’
“now, that’s the hardest,
like when racing hearts rest”

another day at the races

i’ve come to draw words on a line
after another day at the races
i thought i saw you in the stands today
amongst all the hollering faces
i thought i saw a grey hound’s bait
caught in my headlights
reeling after closing time
putting up a fight
sometimes i wish you’d make your way
down to this arena
t'peek at what i put myself through
...i coulda sworn i’d seen ya
maybe someday i’ll see you there
along some kinda finish line
maybe you’ll drop your checkered flag and
shower me in flowers and wine

Monday, June 20, 2005

in the blood

can you hear it
pacing, racing, as fast ever
why does it make you shiver
does it remind you of faces and places before
my dear, some things you just can't ignore
from a dovecote
by the sea
or anywhere else (the birds sung matter-of-factly)
the clots we sought and then forgot...
he who remembers wakes in embers
so loud and clear,
with just one ear
turns the key and at once ignites
in morning's dew
highways pulse
with man's plight
20.06, 2005

words on the wind

i heard a voice calling :
"do not be afraid,
for blessed is he
who is what he was
before he was made"
they came on the wind,
those singular words,
and on the wind they went.
perhaps all there is
is the calling of birds
as they're blown on the wind,
and we just mistake it for singular words?
God knows i don't know
but now night is falling
i am what i was
before i was made
and this is my calling
robert nye
the tls
june 10/2005

Sunday, June 19, 2005


silver and gold
and it's growing cold
autumn leaves
lay as thick as thieves
shivers down your spine
chill you to the bone
'cos the mandolin wind
is the melody that turns your heart to stone
the heat of your breath
carving shadows on the mist
every angel has the wish
that she's never been kissed
a broken dream
haunting in your sleep
and hiding in your smile
a secret you must keep
love cuts you deep
love breaks the wings of a butterfly on a wheel
love breaks the wings of a butterfly on a wheel
there's no scarlet in you,
lay your veil down for me
as sure as God made wine,
you can't wrap your arms
around a memory
take warmth from me,
cold autumn winds cut sharp as a knife
and in the dark for me,
you're the candle flame that flickers to life
love breaks the wings of a butterlfy on a wheel
love will break the wings of a butterfly on a wheel
wise men say
all is fair in love and war
there's no right or wrong in the design of love
and i could only watch as the wind crushed your wings
broken and torn
crushed like the flower under the snow
and like the flower in spring
love will rise again to heal your wings
love heals the wings of a butterfly on a wheel
love will heal the wings of a butterfly on a wheel
by the mission


no, i don't believe in luck
no, i don't believe in circumstance no more
accidents never happen in a perfect world
so i won't believe in luck
i saw you walking in the dark
so i slipped behind your footsteps for a while
caught you turning round the block
fancy meeting in a smaller world,
after all accidents never happen,
could have planned it all
precognition in my ears
accidents never happen in a perfect world
complications disappear
now you love me
i, yeah, i can tell
i never lied
and you, you knew so well
like the magi on the hill
i can divinate your presence from afar
and i'll follow you
until i can bring you to a perfect world
accidents never happen in a perfect world
accidents never happen
by blondie

Wednesday, June 15, 2005


when i was a wee firefly
in the days of formative flaps
i found a box of crayons
and started drawing maps
my art teacher adored me
so did mom, though she did scold me
she said: “use paper, not the walls
and map away, if atlas calls”
i was a whippersnapper - not to blame
when batty uncle explained my name
mom said the nurse cried : “he’ll go far!”
so, i imagined myself a star
when the other kids were out setting traps
i was preoccupied with my maps
i’d draw the whole wide world on a napkin
with minute details acquired from flappin’
around the world each and every day
lone treadmill, quotidian sway,
always dawning, always maps
never filled the voids and gaps
i tried drawing other subjects
proclaimed myself king and artist
dad said
“boy, you’ll die broke and penniless”
i said
‘yeah, but atleast i’ll have a fortress!’
unstuck came the reel,
i escaped my destined wheel,
but, lo and behold - as part of the exchange
they threw in an achilles’ heel
the wiseman said :
“repeat after me and
it’ll be them sorry maps no more”
i echoed
‘do re mi fa sol la si do’
he laughed :
“there you go!
now you have …
a shadow!”
i never got it or made much sense,
grounded-lazy-gray’s followed me ever since-
i spent years trying to escape her,
which brings us up to date on this here caper
the boy racer talks to his shadow:
‘darling, put on a pretty dress
and do your hair, it’s such a mess,
i’m kinda expecting company
there’s something in it for you –
if y’knowwhatimean…’
i don’t really know what’s goin’ on
once again i’m dreaming of maps,
but i finally befriended my shadow
so, they’ll be different this time,


a solitary slow-mo sec,
time-bide at pit stop
before my engine’s roar
i draw one line from core

to speed them lonely laps
long after the race is casht
in a land where no man maps
pencil and paper may stand a chance

i bump the corners off the page
turn an edge into a centre
where i draw a rose with utmost care
how divine it glows,
so rare

wish me!
wish me!

God speed
some grace to me

for these thorns,
this stem,
this wondrous gem,
becomes the best of me.