Suz King Enterprise

                                    Puppet on the Shelf


someones puling the strings,
there making out an event of things,
like im asleep and i dont know myself,
and im that puppet sitting on the shelf,
Gathering dust and flys on their nests,
blending into the wall with the rest,
i wanna lift my arm but i cant,
coz the string is controling my chant.
I wanna dance like i used to before,
But i cant even put my legs on the floor,
i wish i knew how to wave hello,
but these strings wont let me go.
I want control over what I do,
But these strings are knotted by you.
 

                                          Real Love

A time and place can change,

We can grow and learn our paths,

But if love is real and substant,

That love will be around no matter what.

 

                                    Just for Thought - 2

  If this is good than who cares what other people think?.

It can merely feel exhausting to project ones self-feelings on others but for some reason others see no reason to stop driving their own miseries on you. Do we feel obliged to council miseries that we may not even comprehend and suppress our own?

The only way to true happiness to enjoy the moment

In all our worry and endeavours are we really concerned with what others want? Or are we changing for what other people want. Was I so concerned to complete the perfect picture for my fantasy realms that I couldn’t even see I was changing too much? A stiff drink eloped theses thoughts further.

 

                                     Just for thought  - 1

 

So in all we do and say everyday – how many of us are happy in who we are? Do we apologise for who we are and step down for the person before us? Do we look at the floor our head buried in our chest as we walk our paths? Do we look at the other person across the road or in the car or in the cafe and think: “They have it better than, me?”

In hind sight – they’re more than likely thinking the same thing as you (though they may not look it).We all endeavour insecurities we would rather not speak of, it’s kneaded in to our blood as Irish folk deadly to please others and not ourselves. Why it that we are so afraid to take control of our own lives? The question remains a puzzle to us all. Do we really hold the answer? Is there a logical understanding that we can grasp onto to make it ok?

I guess the answer is – we don’t. In reality we don’t have clue of what thoughts troubles other people, what insecure dilemma needles their stomach, what past is haunting them every morning they wake up. Are we ashamed to be ashamed?

The essential key in all of this is that we worry so much about what other people think that we go to sleep twenty and wake up forty still feeling the same and feeling “ashamed” that we haven’t done more in our lives.

Maybe it’s time we end the day to sleep our age and wake up the same age happy in what we are and happy in knowing tomorrow is tomorrow.

                                         Alone

Every breath I inhale,

My heart feels its deep heavy workload.

The pain radiates and exceeds,

Why doesn’t he know if He knows me so well?

Un Marin Se Lamenter

“Un marin se lamenter”

I floated on inebriation of cotton clouds and dew,

While the sea casted its waves between me and you,

The wind howled its rath of songs from my ruby heart,

How doth the sea measure the quavers that set us apart?

It doth skip a beat, its missing since you left,

All that here is crotchets and an upside down cleft,

I wait at Pembroke beach for the boat to return,

But alas the rocks fossils taint my rhythms of my yearn,

This light I hope will fade and some else will have a flame,

For even in the hottest sun these burns remain the same.

My sailor boy where have you gone why did they take you away,

Does time not have a minute to give us just one special farewell day.

I once floated on inebriation of cotton clouds and dew,

The mist crept in and called for my sailor to bid tearful adieu,

I dreamt a bottle had a letter that rolled up to the shore,

It said my sailor had left for land and did not love me anymore.

The strings of my heart still strum a lament of hope and forbidden lust,

But this song has been sung and the big finish is an undoubted must.

This light I hope will fade and some else will have the flame,

For even in the hottest sun these burns remain the same.

Un marin se lamenter,

I will love you til my dying day.

 

 

 

 
 
 
 

A Cockatiel's Cry

A bird perched on its tree, its clawing needling on the branch,

How doth the moth get passed the honey bee when the glade is but a trance,

Where do you go my lovely, where does the trail of thoughts get sold,

How doth the cockatiel sing its melody to unveil its cloth of golden stole.

And down its sweeps in the air so gaily and free,

Til loves cloth of glory got its stitches unto thee.

But to unknot the ravels of heavens mighty thread,

This bird must choose its life to be free or happily wed.

The Worrier

If the clouds were made of cotton and the sun was a door

And the sky was a blanket of dreaming folklore,

The stars would pull-over and twinkle a smile if not just to let you float worry free for a while 

Your way

Dreams are like dust,

you can either blow them away,

Or you can gather it into a pile and build a sand castle 

Life is a road

Of bumps and turns,

Of leading lanes that greed does yearn,

Await to see the choice you make,

It reflects the essence of "what you give is what you get"

 

The mirror of reflection

A curling sand dune roasted in the sky,

I thought about the living that could not die,

A noir crept swan for challenges to keep,

My own crimson soul of the chapters I do receipt,

If eye for an eye is the dead we doth leap,

Should someone claim the lives of those who wheep,

If you pick up your coat and lay this on the floor,

Are you bring thoughtful or being the matt of a door. 

Break through

To sheer the threads of playful wool,

Line by line to a knot, to a willow,

Curling these patterns to a duvet of scenes,

To a line or a qoute of crimson sand dreams,

If not the sheet of egyptian purity,

Let the cobwebs dismantle and replace serenity  

The Golden Circle

If I could hang the threads of pictures that walk,

To mine own eyes that do be stalk,

The trail of black and ivory white,

Shares the laws of econometric night,

Unto the stars that do collide,

A swirly swish of mythology glide,

and unto that does come the sun,

To whisp a golden shade to everyone. 

 

 ~The Cockatiel’s Lament   

A bird perched on its tree, its clawing needling on the branch,

How doth the moth get passed the honey bee when the glade is but a trance,

Where do you go my lovely, where does the trail of thoughts get sold?

How doth the cockatiel sing its melody to unveil its cloth of golden stole?

And down its sweeps in the air so gaily and free,

Til loves cloth of glory got its stitches unto thee.

But to unknot the ravels of heavens mighty thread,

This bird must choose its life to be free or happily wed.

 

Across the daisies he sweeps his wings out two and fro,

Searching for his lover where doth the beauty go,

She’s hidden among the emerald shield of duvet cotton leaves,

She’s the mystery of heavens missing cloth of threads of cupids weave.

Her eyes tell have many tales, her feathers not withered by the past,

The last of the ladies she is the one in a million platinum grasp.

Alas he drifts among the sea cliff his melody changing with the waves,

Why should such a beauty love give a chance for his behaves?

 

But doth the cockatiel discern how love’s unravelling present lies,

It sown the threads of “her choice” into her own beauty’s eyes,

Unto these threads begin to sow and needle life’s quality quilt,

Where these two birds lament each other unto a standard stilt.

She plucks among the dandelions and blows their florets across the air,

Hoping that his eyes will turn to compose a cupid cumulative stare.

Hovered in the air the taraxacum seeds float freely and frolic,

Where two hearts meet and cause an epidemic systolic.

The melody is in tune alas, the quavers are now in match,

A song of ever lasting peace is now on heaven’s door latch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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