My Guide - Suzanne O'Keeffe

I don’t know who you are,
But Ive seen you in my dreams,
I see in you in my visions,
On every eye sight gleam.
Whenever I am lost,
I feel your gentle push,
I see you looking back at me
And telling me not too rush.
Whenever I feel lonely,
And the pressure is weighing me down,
Your pull on the reigns of your horse,
And wave a hand in front my frown.
You never say a word to me,
You just make those wisdom gestures,
You make me stop to think again,
And remember life’s little pleasures.
I hear you playing the wooden flute,
As you ride on ahead of me,
You always seem so astute,
You reflect and erase bad memories.
I see the sand blowing across your dark skinned face,
In all your seriousness you have a refreshing grace,
Youve been with me since I was born and id love to hear you talk,
For you have been my ”Indian guide” since the day I could walk.
As I write this poem you are now sat next to me,
You are as calm and relaxing as the wave upon the sea.
Though you do not talk Im not sure if you can,
But I’d like to thank you for being my “Indian Man”.

Suzanne O'Keeffe

The Cockatiel’s Lament - Suzanne O'Keeffe

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 unwithered 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 standards 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.

Suzanne O'Keeffe