Any sense of you

When we live within what’s comfort,

When my normal looms large and strong,

That is when I most likely lose,

any sense of you at all.

 

When I see you acting strangely,

I can quickly then conclude,

That is why I’m so much better

than you, the one whose plans are loose!

 

When I am struggling with things beyond me,

when I need fresh glimpses in my muse,

Then I am bereft of comfort,

As I stumble blind – confused.

 

It is your hand that brushes by me,

breaks into my thoughts and fear.

You are different, so see in colour,

while black and white just brings me grey.

 

It hurts my heart to need another,

I am scared and fear to trust.

When I open and face your beauty,

I find strength in your difference.

 

So to chose each day’s discomfort,

bridging difference in the storm.

As I rest in hope believing,

you’re my complement reborn.

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Advertisements

I see anew

Different ways of being,

perceptions shift and change.

What seems so natural to me,

is strange and cumbersome

when another dances with me.

 

Actions bring reactions,

irritations loom quite large.

I can not seem to grasp –

your thinking is deranged!

I hide – I’ve met a beast outside!

 

My  mind so quickly ciphers,

that your seeking  to abuse.

So my best protection’s

to avoid the strange in you

and so be safe – secure, alone!

 

Yet then I see within you,

an innocence divine!

You truly are releasing,

a strange shift in my pride.

I see again – but what surprise!

 

Curiosity finds an answer,

when I listen to your sighs.

You really are creating,

a harmonious ensemble

to my perfect enterprise!

 

Mental mindsets box me,

within simplistic jails.

So easy just to ridicule,

your tune which I can’t hear.

Until unchained, I hear anew!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Not the Same

Apples come in different shapes.

They hide behind their colours too.

Each one distinct and yet alike,

create a symphony that brings delight.

 

Mangos I have found

salute this custom so profound.

They all hang high up in a tree,

when eaten, have such individuality.

 

And then of course there is the face.

We all have one –  I think it’s grace!

Yet how it is I fathom not,

With just a smile – derail my thought!

 

And what about that sense of mirth,

It crops up with such violent birth.

It’s spasm’s quivers are quite unique.

Yet all enjoy its invasive tweak.

 

When I surprise a latin scamp,

I am amazed at backwoods imps,

they look at me from neath the table

cause I have skin that’s white not sable!

 

Women when in violence raised,

can see with dread these men who haze.

Yet both alike need someone kind,

to heal the wound they’ve been consigned.

 

Difference is a gift most sage,

It’s grace invites to end the rage.

Cause when I feel discovery’s bliss,

Love  dances out and plants a kiss!

Author – Bill Tidsbury