Step into the Rainbow by Colin R Brookfield (read 50 shades of grey txt) 📕

have started I’ll tell you the rest

and the parts you all play in fulfilling a quest,

for the Earth is the place of the predatory dream

The illusory world of every extreme.

 

Then the cat ‘shouldered arms’ and stared at its tail

and it thought about Earth and it started to wail.

Then it scratched at its head with a leg from the rear

whilst it poured out its woes for the wizard to hear.

 

Then it pointed its paw at the streaming menagerie

still armed with their tooth and claw weapons and gadgetry.

Said the Wizard “your memories of things that were fell,

they were not real it was part of my spell.

 

It was kinder to teach in a world of pretence,

so that all that come here won’t repeat those events”

Then the cat saw a mouse go scampering by

and it didn’t give chase and it didn’t know why.

 

The Wizard had noticed and said “look around

there’s no hunger no anger no fear to be found”

Then the cat had a stretch, after washing its face

and again asked why humans were in such disgrace.

 

He replied “they abuse their abstract ability

reducing all creatures to servile utility.

But my spell is eternal for those it entraps

with irrational thoughts and insensitive acts.

Then a solitary human stepped out of the crowd

and the cat gave a purr unbelievably loud

then it ran to the arms of someone it knew

and the Wizard looked on and enjoyed the view.

 

Cats are Stress Relieving

A lovely new carpet arrived at our door,

the second this year upon the same floor,

kitten came too and she sprinkled and splashed

till it smelt like the carpet last year that she trashed.

 

She’s consumed with affection and feminine charm

and a wire-brush tongue; we smell like a farm.

Faces suffer patiently, her sticky tongue and nose,

followed by the futile trips, where soap and towel repose.

 

Little nips are sent to please, nothing seems disdainful,

every thing is up for grabs but only where its painful.

Leaping blindly into baths was recently curtailed,

it wasn’t always empty, goodness how she wailed.

So it wasn’t herds of rhino playing hockey in our bath,

just moggy and her ping-pong ball; we’re too stressed out to laugh.

The date is set for neutering, two more weeks to go,

next door’s tom is amorous - we’re feeling very low.

 

Soggy Kids

The builders dug a giant hole,

enough to lose a bus in,

ready for a public house,

they should have filled the thing.

 

For now the war had started

and the pub a ‘non event’,

the rain came down in torrents

and in the hole it went.

 

The local boys were overjoyed

they brought along a raft,

so Jimmy and his sister came

to test their home-made craft.

 

Their boat was made of canvas

around a wooden frame,

but after dragging half a mile

it didn’t look the same.

 

Jimmy clambered in it

then his sister heaved,

but if she hadn’t grabbed his hair

she might have been bereaved.

 

Later, floating on a raft

that didn’t quite support her,

the wretched thing tipped sideways

dumping sister in the water.

Jimmy made a graceful dive

and cleaved his way across,

for brothers don’t like siblings

to become a total loss.

 

Having reached the other side,

his sister spluttered, “Jim,

that was rather clever

you’ve never learned to swim.”

 

Luckily the day was hot

to steam away the wet,

from a pair of unkempts

who may get a smacking yet.

 

Aeolus

Across the lands a drifting breeze,

to warm, to cool, to heat or freeze.

 

It carries scents to needful noses

that wild things know where food reposes.

 

Micro life to its breezes cling

and larger creatures on the wing.

 

Delivers water, dust and seeds

fresh air to fetid places feeds.

 

It harries and reshapes the land,

all things upon it feels its hand.

 

For Nature needs to rearrange

and with her breath deliver change.

 

Into every nook and cleft,

not a place is found bereft.

 

Then rests a while on mirrored seas.

and over land on silent trees.

 

Tomorrow though must wait and see,

for every mood’s a lottery.

 

Labyrinth

Theseus in the labyrinth

was a journey in his head,

his shadow was the Minator

until its blood was shed.

 

Ariadne was his anima,

his hopes lay in her care,

she knew how to find the door,

her golden thread led there.

 

All is Relative

If I were a Dragonfly,

quick to move and soon to die,

I’m certain I’d perceive my life

as long in span, not over spry.

 

I’d see the walking creatures

like zombies in slow motion,

a mockery of industry

with minds so slow of notion.

 

If I were a mighty tree,

three hundred years would fly,

I’m certain I’d perceive my life

an average span and rather spry.

 

Of course my hours would be seasons,

twenty-four would make my year,

walking creatures would be speeding blurs

with our timings out of gear.

 

If I were a continent,

upon the molten magma lie,

I’m certain I’d perceive my life

an average span and rather spry.

 

I’d count my year in millions

of orbits ‘round the sun,

if rumoured that I carry life,

I would not have noticed one.

 

Nature’s Golden Rule

Imperceptible to sight

is black on black, or white on white,

they have no independent meaning,

lest in contrast they are seen in.

All opposites and shades amidst

must interact or not exist,

’tis one of Nature’s golden rules,

all spheres of life it serves and fuels.

 

Our Time Will Come

Whilst sunshine fell upon her face,

I dreamed within another place.

 

Fly thought to her upon the breeze,

bring then her answer to me please.

 

Her vision formed and then receded,

for its return then my heart pleaded.

 

Then in my dream her soft voice spoke,

“Our time will come”, so I awoke.

 

Imaginations

Energy will ebb, energy will flow,

but imagination gives the orders

of which way it’s going to go.

 

Dids’t Grant Without Mine Asking

The unbidden came and said “Go free

from the cloying shadow; let they spirit flee.

Fly then so high the inward sky

that nothing can describe or even try.

 

So small it makes of all that’s left behind,

that words and breath withhold, as does the mind,

and fading pasts that echo on forever,

carries not a single trace that’s nether.

The ways are known as well as where,

so light as dreams upon the air,

at last, thy flighting feathers flair”.

 

The Black Shepherd Cat

The black shepherd cat flowed out of the dark,

quiet as a shadow, its paws left no mark.

Then it entered the room where somebody slept,

who was quite unaware just how close it had crept.

Then the black shepherd cat took over control

of the person that slept to awaken their soul.

The awakening one recoiled with surprise,

away from the black shepherd cat’s gleaming eyes.

 

But the black shepherd cat was there on a quest,

a mission of care at another’s behest.

Then a movement nearby brought its ward into sight,

so the black shepherd cat flowed back to the night,

for a sleek Siamese had appeared on the floor,

a friend who’d been lost from this world years before.

Then gathering all this was meant to impart,

the awakening one woke up with a start.

It was clear he was now in a parallel life,

for attempts were in vain to awaken his wife.

 

Had this been the lot of his Siamese friend,

an emotional trap awaiting life’s end,

alone in this house with no one to care,

nobody knowing that he was still there?

 

So this was the task in the ‘shepherd cat’s’ mind,

to gather lost souls for return to their kind.

But why was a human made privy to this,

a portent perhaps that one shouldn’t dismiss?

For a soul cannot fly at the end of the day

when emotional chains too heavily weigh.

But, to the black shepherd cat - I couldn’t owe more,

for I passed and returned through life’s final door.

 

One Extra for the Night

In alluding to our secrets

in metaphoric form,

popularity seems to favour

closet skeletons as its norm.

 

Though mine, I’m forced to say

has snout trotters and a sty

and won’t be left in allegory

like a “large white” lie.

 

It started on a lonely farm

in nineteen thirty seven

after city life, till the age of five,

it turned the thirties into heaven.

 

Though I had my suspicion

why my parents sent me there,

after five years of my mischief,

they’d lined up Grandma for a share.

 

It took, of course, a week or two

before I “found my feet”,

being several hundred miles away

from my London street.

 

The local postman had a cycle

with a spare seat at the rear,

he took letters off to London

and delivered theirs back here.

 

This method of delivery

was all I ever saw,

so I concluded that his cycle

made the journey door to door.

 

How I pestered that poor postman

for a ride upon the seat,

each time he rode to London,

taking letters to our street.

 

To save the postman’s sanity

I was found employment,

piglets and a sow to feed,

‘Twas not to my enjoyment.

 

Every time the sty was cleaned,

‘I ran the gauntlet’ of her teeth,

she seemed to have a mission,

to make my presence brief.

Though it could have been revenge,

for the times that she was fed,

when her nose went in the trough too quick

and breakfast finished on her head.

 

But soon I got the knack

of dishing out her food

and she replaced the biting

with a better mood.

 

Her den was just a tiny room,

the walls were made of brick

with an entrance like an igloo,

inside, the straw was clean and thick.

 

One day I overheard the news,

my parents were arriving

and I would have to pack my case,

then back to London we’d be driving.

 

The afternoon was drawing in,

sow and young were fast asleep

as I crept in beside them,

adding to the sleepy heap.

What a shock Grandmother had

as she filled the trough next morning,

when out I staggered with the pigs,

still half asleep and yawning.

 

Off to Foreign Climes

The mighty river lapped and swirled

somewhere far below,

awaiting two adventurers

who had nowhere else to go.

 

This place had been selected

by Jimmy and his friend,

from a daylight visit

to this quayside at Gravesend.

The Tilbury lights were twinkling

far across the river,

a cold dank mist lay everywhere,

the two began to shiver.

 

Then they fixed attention

upon a bollard’s rope

that had upon its lower end,

all their invested hope.

 

Then one by one descending,

they slithered far below,

into the inky blackness,

swinging to and fro.

 

Finally a searching foot

found the little boat,

but with water past their ankles,

they wondered ‘would it float’.

 

A baling can lay underfoot,

so this dispelled all mystery,

this dinghy yearned the riverbed

to disappear from history.

 

Fifteen minutes later,

the oars were in their place,

the Tilbury lights were targeted

and hearts began to race.

 

The plan they had concocted

for that seawards moving flow,

was row towards its centre

and they knew how far to go.

 

An hour passed and then they turned,

the plan had worked out right,

heading down the river

with their purpose now in sight.

 

A mighty vessel lay ahead

still anchored in its place,

three hundred yards between them

as the current gathered pace.

 

Jimmy turned their boat about

to make their progress slower,

but now the ebbing tide controlled

the dinghy and the rower.

 

Jimmy’s friend was first to see

the white froth dead ahead,

propeller-blades were churning

and filled them both with dread.

This vessel sat much higher

than a loaded vessel should,

so propellers out of water

was more easily understood.

 

Jimmy’s oars moved frantically

to save them from the maw

of the mighty ships ‘egg-beater’,

bent on closing their life’s door.

 

Then having done his utmost,

the ship and dinghy clashed,

slipping past the ghastly blades,

the dinghy’s oar was smashed.

 

They impacted and rebounded

from off the vessel’s rear,

into the bottom of their boat

with one oar left to steer.

 

Then the current dragged them

past the wall of steel

that towered high above them,

how small it made them feel!

 

This wasn’t like their comics,

where were the nets and ropes,

there were no means of climbing

on which they’d placed their hopes.

 

The dinghy speeded past the ship,

though minutes seemed like days,

carrying its cargo

of rebuffed stowaways.

 

Then they travelled seawards,

the ship now out of sight,

and gradually ‘pon every shore

so was every light.

 

Clouds were low and heavy,

blackening the smog,

the world seemed gone forever

from their dinghy in the fog.

 

But Jimmy kept on paddling

with the single oar,

relying on his instinct

to find a friendly shore.

 

Then the past intruded

that brought him to this place,

he was beaten with a stairrod,

and could see his father’s face.

 

Escape came from a window,

he jumped the thirteen feet

and scarcely seconds later

he was nowhere in the street.

 

Late September in the woods

made a chilly night,

until he found a haystack

and that improved his plight.

 

Sister brought the bread and jam

but only when she could,

until the days turned into weeks,

he’d be there ‘till adulthood.

 

Then sister brought his friend along

and that was where it started,

both of them were in a ‘rut’,

so adventure’s course was charted.

 

A distant foghorn brought him back

to focus on survival,

and wonder if a friendly shore

might welcome their arrival.

 

Jimmy’s friend kept baling,

his mind had not forgotten

the dinghy with its yearning,

to rest the river bottom.

 

Then heavy skies looked lighter,

the mist began to clear,

then a distant shoreline,

so they both began to cheer.

 

But mud lay thick and treacherous

between the boat