RECENT POEMS 4
In the chilled air.
Waiting, wrapped in the silence
of an empty station at night,
just the lights of the platform
to bring some semblance
of comfort in the chilled air.
Can't smoke now, no chance
to light up and ease the pain
of the evening and dashed hopes.
You and me, should have been
alone but there were three.
You spoke about him so much
I felt invisible. You were out
with me, not him. It wasn't fair.
Now, I'm standing here on my own
waiting for the last train home.
You made it clear, you're still
in love with him and not with me.
I let you go though I love you
but you can't see me, just him.
I'll get over you one day I know
but, right now, my heart is breaking
So I hope the train's not late,
I just want to get home and shut
the door and lick my wounds
and try not to be filled with hate
for that bloke who you think
is so great, but who knocked
you about and used you,
so I don't know why you still
want to be with somebody
like that when I would have loved
you, and never ever hurt you.
I can hear the train coming now.
Perhaps you didn't love me
because I'm just a nobody.
Something I'll never know now.
The world spins
My mind spins,
My thoughts spin
My heart spins
The world turns
My mind turns
My thoughts turn
My heart turns
The world whirls
My mind whirls
My thoughts whirl
My heart whirls
The world churns
My mind churns
My thought churn
My heart churns
The world seethes
My mind seethes
My thoughts seethe
My heart seethes
The world sighs
My mind sighs
My thoughts sigh
My heart sighs
The world evolves
My mind evolves
My thoughts evolve
My heart evolves
The world rejoices
My mind rejoices
My thoughts rejoice
My heart rejoices.
The weed is humble, forgotten,
rejected, neglected and usually
pulled out if near a cultured
flower. Like the runt of a litter,
the weed is rarely watered
or fed, so it either lives or dies.
If it survives it's rarely welcome
but, give it its due, it really tries.
If there's a flowerbed around
it will sneak in and start to grow
wherever there's some spare ground.
It pushes its roots down deep
so that nobody can come along
and pull it out. It's determined to keep
its hold on its hard won space
and establish itself until strong.
But, give it a broad patch of land
that's wild and free and the weed
has found its home. All kinds expand
over the fields, some delicate
some small, some large, to seed
with exuberance, and dedicate
itself to spreading far and wide.
Over the Spring and Summer months
it adds dashes of bright colour,
frequently as beautiful as a cultured
flower, but often missed or simply
not seen because classed as a weed
which makes it invisible to all
but the most observant, who concede
this humble plant needs raising up
and be recognized as precious
for the weed is the true herald of Spring
with its dazzling array spread out
as a carpet fit for any king or queen.
After the Rain
The sweet smell of the earth
after rain rises to greet me
like a lover who has bathed
in scented water, and I breathe
in deeply, falling into her
embrace full of flowers,
warm soil and leaves on trees
washed clean, now gently
spraying a fine shower
with each rustle of the breeze
down to the floor below,
to nourish saplings and life
at the base of trunks gnarled
with age but tender in their care
for all sheltering around them
in their rich leaf fed ground
surrounding each and every one.
And I tread softly lest I crush
a life, and recall the beauty
of the woods when rain has fallen
when all is refreshed, renewed
and imbued with a sense
of a new birth, of a new day,
for this, I thank the Universe
that guided my feet to walk
this path and smell and see
what few will notice, and I rejoice
in the peace pervading the woods.
It was not my choice that brought
me here, but a small voice
who called and I answered
‘I will come to you and we will
talk after the rain, my sweet love,
and we will embrace in the scented
air without concern or care.
‘How bad is the pain?' you're asked.
‘Relative to what?' I ask, tasked
to answer this innocent question
with honesty, but find I cannot.
The excruciating pain of the past
makes all pain of the present
seem paltry and unable to be cast
as really pain at all, rather discomfort
in degrees from one to ten as requested.
Thus making me feel dishonest,
because not in agony when I should be,
for I've asked for attention and wanted
to be taken seriously, but that would mean
I must be genuinely racked in pain
if I'm taking up the time of medics
who could be out there treating the sick
and the dying, instead of bothering
with me who is merely hurting.
In the end, I say ‘Maybe a five or a six
for the pain, but the lethargy is a nine.'
And then I'm not exaggerating.
The latter is a knock out drop without
a pill, a brain blast that refuses to go
and makes my eyes close and me
drift into a dead sleep as if anaesthetized.
That fact eases my sense of guilt.
I have found a genuine case built
on solid ground, and now I can
let go and give myself over to be cared
for and treated, because this lethargy
is not construed as pain, but something
intrusive, unwanted, and involuntary.
I can be honest now and relax
for this sleep will sweep me away
like a narcotic's dream while the cause
is a mystery that seems here to stay.
A Little Bit Extra
Time ticks away,
once so slowly,
now, oh so fast,
and another day
bites the dust.
It's not just me
who is aghast
at how quickly
it flies by, now
I'm over sixty.
And yet I can
recall a time
when I longed
for it to fly by
so that my life
And I would sigh
because it was not
and then suddenly
I was free to play
and have fun.
Something till then
I'd never done.
Now, I'm thinking,
please slow down
there's no rush,
take your time.
I haven't finished
having fun so let
time be vanquished
for a little longer
and then I'll go
when my life is over
grateful at my age
to be able to stay
for a few more
years of joyful play.
You're Mine, all mine
It takes a little while to register
but I'm most definitely in love with you.
It's not your looks that excite me,
not your body that turns me on,
not your height, weight or anything
that you can see immediately.
What I love is what's inside.
A big, big heart, a laid back
attitude to life on the whole
but a passion as well for things
that turn you on, like music,
women, life, your wife, your son
and anybody else who comes
into your world for a short or long
while, so I take comfort knowing
that you are mine, all mine,
you belong to me, most definitely
mine and I'm never ever going
to let you go for as long as I'm alive.
What happens when I'm gone
won't matter one little bit to me
so long as while I'm here you're
faithful to me, you can chase skirt
for as long as your legs will carry you
when I'm gone, but do it while I'm here
and you won't walk for very long,
because you're mine, all mine,
you belong to me, most definitely
mine and I'm never ever going
to let you go for as long as I'm alive so there.
Two bikes lain side by side,
oh what fun we had this ride.
We sneaked away before the dawn
pushing our bikes across the lawn,
and then we mounted them to sail
through dew kissed hill and dale
as the sun rose, cycling along roads,
passing still silent curtained abodes.
Would be a while before all awoke
and the dawn through soft clouds broke
to welcome in a brand new day,
while we lay side by side wanting to stay
knowing soon we'd have to return,
but for a little longer our hearts would burn
with passion and love amid the spring flowers
then leave having relished these two hours
before we had to pick up our bikes
and get home before misfortune strikes.
For our love must stay hidden from sight,
and must never come into the light,
for neither of us is free and fear to hurt
our dear partners so keep our love covert.
But, once in a while, we take a ride
and pretend that I'm her husband, she my bride.
after that we go back to married life
where I'm a good husband and she's a good wife.
A walk, a talk, a reminisce,
a memory shared
A joke, a mimic, a giggle,
a moment shared
A life, a dream, a hope,
a celebration shared
A body, a mind, a heart,
a spirit shared
A birth, a death, a loss,
a tragedy shared
A world, a planet, a Universe,
a mystery shared
A journey, a path, a chance,
a decision shared
A Rash Decision
In with a splash,
out with a dash,
I've got the cash,
blow being rash.
It's good being flash.
with a certain panache.
I'll spend my stash,
or rudely brash.
My gear won't clash
nor my moustache.
I'm no trash.
Flutter an eyelash,
oh a whiplash
with no backlash,
I'm all of a mishmash,
down with a crash.
This is a rehash,
I've run out of cash,
gone is my panache,
even my moustache
has lost its flash.
My wife's tonguelash
my ego will smash,
I really must dash.
The Art of Communication
A turn of phrase,
a tone of voice,
a slip of the tongue,
a verbal exchange.
We all have a choice
when expressing views.
Neither say exactly
what's in our heads,
at other times
or so practical
we sound like automaton.
Can we ever express
what we really mean,
or do we stumble along
tossing out words
with many a conjunction
and lots of punctuation,
hoping they'll make
sense to someone
with the ears to hear
and gifted with the art
of verbal communication?
I hope so, because, if not,
I've wasted decades
expressing my ideas
mixed in with banality,
but with a few gems
scattered in just to keep
the neurons firing,
and the wish that somebody
out there understands me
just a bit more than they
did before I opened
my mouth and spoke.
When a child, I would sit on the grass
and make a necklace of daisies,
I'd wear it around my neck with joy,
something so simple but possible
even in the heart of the great cities.
Wherever there were parks
so would grow these sweet flowers
turning their heads to the sun
each morning, awaiting small fingers
to come and gently pick them,
make a small slit in their stem,
and, with patience and care,
thread another through
until the chain was long enough
to go round a small head and sit
with pride on a summer's dress,
or, occasionally, like a tiara
on a head of soft hair.
Those were days of simple pleasures,
rather lost in these days of machines
to fill the time, to stimulate the mind
or entertain instead of looked around
and seeing what's on the ground,
in the trees, what flowers are growing,
where that scent is coming from,
and feeding the ducks from the pond
in the park with a bag of stale bread.
Another simple delight and looking
with unalloyed joy at ducklings waddling
along behind their mother, or swimming
in a row across the pond or lake.
Lovely days of sun and memories sweet,
mostly gone now, but still for some
the simple pleasures are there
when grandparents take their grandchildren
to the park and remind them of how
things once were, and hope that they too
will find joy in those gentle activities
so fondly remembered of old.
Can you hear?
Can you hear the shrieks and cries,
the moans, and wails, the laughter
and sorrow, the cars and planes,
the storms and rain, the thunder
and lightning, the breezes
and gales, the tornados
and hurricanes, the birds
and insects, the tubes
and buses, the lorries
and vans, the kids
and babes, the teenagers
and adults, the talking
and shouting, the bombs
and guns, the lies
and deceptions, the mines
and grenades, the streams
and rivers, the waterfalls
and weirs, the volcanoes
and geysers, the televisions
and radios, the world
and noise, noise, noise
through the Universe
broadcasting our presence
crying out for acknowledgement,
to be heard by others
out there just so long
as we know we're not alone,
not alone in the vastness
of space, in time, wrapped
in matter and making
our presence felt loud
and clear for all to hear
somewhere out there.
The Human Mind
Positive thoughts abound in a mind
that has found peace and contentment.
While a restless mind flies to and fro
between highs and lows from moment
to moment. An angry mind though
pursues negative thoughts like a cat with prey
unable to see the light or find rest,
torturing itself with rage every day.
Most minds find they become depressed
from time to time, then it passes by
to a quieter time when life just flows,
and little or nothing goes awry.
Only those with festering memories
find their minds full of anxiety and pain,
haunted by unresolved and bitter furies
burdening them with the fear of going insane.
How complex is the human mind,
how fragile its contents when hurt.
So sensitive to autosuggestions,
so liable to be corrupted by covert
memes passed through generations,
and subject to extreme confusion
when faced with multiple choices
leading frequently to self-delusion.
Taken as a whole, the mind
is a precious gift full of hopes and wishes.
A place where knowledge can find
a home, and ideas can bear fruit,
thoughts can come to maturity
where all that causes dispute
can be solved, and all the beauty
in the world take root in the human mind.
We walk, we talk, we think,
We dream, we scheme, we plan,
We work, we strive, we sow,
We hope, we weep, we laugh,
We sleep, we eat, we pee,
We shit, we fart, we burp,
We dribble, we sneeze, we cough,
We snort, we hop, we skip,
We leap, we jump, we trip,
We stumble, we fear, we dread,
We sin, we lie, we fret,
We worry, we smell, we taste,
We touch, we hear, we see,
We rise, we fall, we bawl,
We shout, we whisper, we swear,
We cower, we shower, we bathe,
We clean, we dust, we wash,
We swim, we run, we fight,
We strike, we murder, we steal,
We attack, we retreat, we cheat,
We flee, we relax, we recline,
We seduce, we procreate, we screw,
We rescue, we spare, we care,
We abandon, we depart, we neglect,
We travel, we fly, we ride,
We marry, we divorce, we betray,
We breathe, we believe, we deny,
We defame, we bully, we decry,
We vote, we defeat, we survive,
We live, we love, we die.
A Dance through Life
Light of my life, I'm yours forever
and we'll dance through time
wrapped in love and laughter
with never a care or worry
to wear us down. I'm so in love
with you, I can't stop looking at you,
your eyes, your face, your comely
body, how I desire you, so never
say you'll leave me, beloved of mine,
and we'll dance through time
forever and a day.
I swear I'll be true to you, my love.
You've given me your heart,
what more can I want in life
than a heart full of passion
and love for me. I'll be more than happy
to dance through time with you.
Hold me tight and twirl me
through the hours and years,
a light fandango or a waltz
it matters not so long as I'm in your arms,
so dance me through time, my love,
forever and a day.
We've danced together, my love,
and now we have to part.
I'll never stop loving you
whether you be here or where
I cannot follow you yet.
Wait for me and I'll come to you
and we'll continue our dance
through time and space until eternity
ends, and we'll drift together
through the Universe forever
for you are mine and I am yours
‘Listen to the wind in the trees.' She said softly.
‘It's speaking to you and me.'
‘I hear it,' said her lover
with his arms wrapped round her waist.
‘It speaks to me of life, of hope,
of all our deep desires, but, most of all,
it speaks to me of love.' He said gently.
‘I hear all these things too,' she sighed,
‘but I also hear a warning. Too far below
for you to note perhaps, but, for me,
it's very clear.' A tear glistened in her eye,
her lover was filled with pain on seeing
her distress. ‘What warning is this?' he asked.
She looked into his tender face. ‘It says
our love can never be known. It will cause
dire consequences if we declare our love
for all to perceive.'
Her lover gazed down at her, his heart
in agony rent. ‘But that will mean we cannot be
together.' The tear rolled down her cheek,
‘Alas, I fear it will always be so for I am
betrothed to another as are you.' She replied.
‘Then come away with me, my love.' He said.
Fire burning in his eyes lit by the furnace
in his heart for his beloved whom he had known
She shook her head in sadness great.
‘I cannot do that. You know it cannot be.
My father is the king and yours his enemy.
the two of us could have united our two realms
but war has broken out again as well you know,
so, my sweet love, we must part this night
and never meet again.' Trembling with anger,
he held her tight. ‘I'd rather die than let you go.'
‘I'll make a pact with you, my sweet,
maybe our two deaths with end this war,
and we'll be together in the afterlife for evermore.'
But she with a mighty sigh, withdrew from his arms.
‘No, I cannot agree to that. My love for you is true,
my heart will be yours alone, but I love my father
far too much to grieve him thus. The man
he has chosen as my husband will give him
strength and power to end this war,
so I cannot abandon him and have my heart's desire.
Besides,' she cried, ‘we have no proof our deaths
will end the war, it might even make it go on
and on for decades more with both our father's
racked with pain over the loss of their son and daughter.
No, my love, we must now part forever. Give me a last kiss,
and bid me sweet farewell, and know in my heart
I'm yours forever.'
In great sorrow, he agreed, and kissing her tenderly,
they turned and went their separate ways.
The wind howled with the agony of their parting
and the sky shed tears, while the trees
whispered of what they'd overheard,
and for centuries to come, their meeting
drifted through the forests deep and the pain
of their parting was recorded for all with ears to hear.
Ancient history never left a written record
of the pair, for none but they had ever known
of their love only Nature alone kept it safe
and warm within its breast until they, once more,
will be united in some other place and time,
never to be parted again.
When the Muses choose to amuse
and comes as inspiration,
you should really not abuse
the gift by taking it out of proportion
and believe that it is your skill
that is crafting words into poems,
because that's enough to kill
the skill and lose those precious gems
that appear from out of nowhere
and fill your mind with images
forming into words from somewhere,
but never what one envisages
when all is normal in your day.
Just accept that, for a while,
the Muses have come to stay,
but could choose not to beguile
you if you cannot keep up,
because the ideas flow so fast
they fill to satiation your cup,
leaving you wondering whether
the thoughts are yours for owning
or the Muses', and that you're being used
while they are out there exploring
and came across your mind and infused
it with inspiration temporarily,
and that you must accept that, maybe,
one day they will leave permanently.
So, for now, enjoy the time you have
running with the Muses as company.
Cast aside like an old rag doll,
I'm worth more than that, she thought.
I have my pride, won't beg him
to take me back, won't crawl.
I'll hold my head up high
and walk with courage
out the door, and hide my face
before he sees me bawl.
Oh, the shame, the despair
that what I thought would last
has come to such an end.
I've been left with nothing
but my battered self esteem,
and my self confidence has gone
it's really isn't fair at all.
this is really too shocking.
Now it's ten years on
and I'm back on my feet again.
He, on the other hand, is not.
Saw him last week looking old,
worn out and his hair is greying.
I didn't let him see me,
it didn't seem right to gloat
my heart isn't completely cold.
I heard the other day from our son,
he met someone and looks better.
I don't know how I feel,
I want him miserable without me
but since I'm happy now,
he did do me a big favour
when he upped and left me bereft,
so I'll wish him well I hope sincerely.
‘Lo and behold, my lord,' said the magician
as the Patrician strode into his abode
and in strident tones, declared
‘I have need of your skills, so
be prepared to perform wonders for me.
I've an enemy I want you to vanquish.'
At this the magician's knees became shaky
for the Patrician's demands if not met
incurred punishments really severe
like the loss of your head, or your heart
or occasionally the loss of an ear
if his mood was merely upset.
‘Which enemy is this?' The magician inquired.
Loathing to ask but it would be required
if his spell was to work really well.
‘My wife's mother,' replied the Patrician,
‘she's the bane of my life, making it hell
with her constant opposition to all that I do.'
The magician went pale. ‘What do you want
me to do? He stammered. ‘Get rid of her, man,'
the Patrician hammered it home with his fist
in his hand. ‘Rid me of this fiendish witch,
and you can have whatever you wish.'
He said. At this, the magician's heart leapt.
For years he had a secret desire he had kept
locked up inside, not daring to voice it aloud,
and here was his chance to obtain it,
providing he was brave and remained uncowed.
‘I can rid you of this witch,' he said.
‘Give her to me to wed, I want her in my bed.'
The Patrician gasped. ‘You fancy the witch
and you can keep her out of my life.'
He added with narrowing eyes. ‘Spell her
to keep her quiet?' he asked. ‘Oh, yes, as my wife,
she won't utter a word.' The magician nodded.
‘Then she's yours.' The Patrician imparted.
The next day, the Patrician's wife's mother
arrived at the magician's abode
spitting fury and indignation in equal proportion
in high dudgeon she was all of a motion
when the magician cast his final spell
making her idyllically happy and compliant as well.
And the Patrician was happy as was his wife,
who had been under the thumb of her mother
for all of her life, changed over night
from dour and grumpy to a beauteous sight,
while her mother took up cooking and cleaning
and cheerfully bedding her husband each night.
The Joys of Ageing
I've forgotten a time when I looked in the mirror
and my skin was smooth, my teeth gleaming,
and my body was supple with no cellulite to be seen.
How long ago were those halcyon days
now that the decades have passed
and age has caught up with me
to add wrinkles to my face, teeth that sparkle
only with Hollywood Smile toothpaste,
and a body that puts on pounds when I look at food.
Alas, I can no longer walk miles without aching,
no longer run and leap for joy without hurting,
and my long legs crinkle like an orange
around thighs once lithe with feminine muscles,
and my bum once tight as an athlete's arse
is now soft like an overripe peach and bigger
by far than it was in the past.
Then I could drink, smoke, eat what I liked
and never by a pound would my weight increase.
With a busy life of work, partying, dancing
and walking everywhere, my food was energy,
now it's fat. One cake and I'm rolling around
with love handles galore, and indulgence
has vanished out the door, I simply cannot eat
much any more, it's more than a bore,
it's a pain in the butt to be sure, and my brain
is declining as well. I forget where I'm going,
why I'm in a room, what that guy's name is,
or his wife's, and who is the guy that's wandering
around my house all the time? Oh, it's my husband
of forty years and more.
But, I've kept hold of one thing that's passed
down the decades, my humour, my ability
to laugh at the absurdity of life, and while
that remains, I've no doubt I'll survive
whatever drops off me next, what brain cells
take a hike from my head, and which part
of my body the next pound will land.
It's good to know though I can still stand,
it's when I can't that I'll know I'm up shit
creek without a paddle.
Ode to Nakedness
The feel of sun upon a clothed body
is fine, but on naked flesh is better.
When the skin can sense the embrace
of warmth like tender arms enfolding you,
giving a sense of freedom, of being ancient
when we walked without garbs unabashed
by our nakedness, so frowned upon today,
and indeed considered so bad a law
was passed banning it in public, but what
is being enforced? The compulsory
wearing of clothes, which nobody
should have the right to impose
since we live in a free society allegedly,
but clearly not that free. How sad
that it should be so, though, undoubtedly,
very few would be bold enough to go
unclothed in the world today,
we really should be permitted to choose
whether we walk naked or garbed.
So to the naked walker whose way
is blocked by the arms of the law
who swore it was not their fault,
they had to arrest him for doing
something completely harmless
and jailing him for a while
for going au naturale.
A miserable, petty law made by
miserable, petty people who believe
nakedness ungodly or malign,
hardly a healthy sign
for the young that our bodies
really are quite obscene.
‘I'll show you mine, if you'll show me yours.'
Said the gnarled old man.
‘Very well,' said I, ‘when shall we do it?'
I asked wondering whether this was such a good plan.
He stroked his beard, and sucked his teeth,
eyeing me dubiously before saying
‘Tomorrow at eight, when the sun's gone down.
Be there by the potting sheds and start praying.'
A frown crossed my face at this last remark.
I was sure to come out on top so he must be kidding.
We both parted after sharing a pot of tea
and I went home to do my Mam's bidding.
The next evening arrived and I was there
waiting eagerly outside my potting shed
when I saw the old man open the door to his
and stand there calling. ‘I've just put it to bed.'
At this, I began to feel somewhat alarmed.
Mine was big but his must be huge
if he couldn't carry it about. I sighed
hoping this was just subterfuge.
I walked over all casual like and looked inside.
My mouth fell open with shock and surprise.
His marrow was massive! Feet thick and strong,
it beat mine hollow with its length and its size.
I turned to him with a shrug. ‘You win, old man.'
I said with a grin. He nodded. ‘I'm eighty years old
and have grown ‘em since I was twenty.
Maybe one day you'll grow one you can't hold.'
We shared another pot of tea as I contemplated
my much smaller marrow, no good to eat
and not a chance of winning. ‘Tomorrow
I'll demolish it,' said I, ‘yours can't be beat.'
He gave me a wry smile and then a chuckle
‘Never mind, lad,' said he, ‘it's too big for me
to get out of the shed, so neither of us will win.'
I agreed it was true, so we had another cup of tea.
It's possible to forget
On an April day when Spring
has sprung into life.
When blooms and buds abound
and there's an air of optimism
and buoyancy all around.
On such days it's possible
to forget about the isms
causing chaos round our world.
To close our eyes to the killing
by the willing to die for country
and an idea of political freedom
that is new to them and old
to us, worn out by fiefdoms
of parties intent on their own ends,
spouting slogans and catch words,
whose advocates ardently defend
their short term schemes
to create better worlds for humans
to live in, while ignoring the extremes
of distress and pain they're causing.
On such days it's possible
to shut our eyes and stay hiding
from the reality outside
because we can't change
most things, but we can try,
by not staying silent, and exchange
apathy for action for a brief while,
and hope that sufficient numbers
will cease being servile,
and demand answers that suffice
instead of accepting misinformation
and humbug from the leaders
with a hidden agenda
so feed us banal propaganda
in the hope that we'll go away,
but, for the sake of our offspring,
we can't, for if we do, one day,
there may be no Spring
when the blooms and buds abound
and there's an air of optimism
and buoyancy around.
An Evening in Spring
There's a golden glow this evening,
making houses shine, streets look
like their paved with precious metal
and a stillness that is tangible.
Nothing stirs, no breeze rustles
through the peaceful trees.
All is at rest this evening, all at peace.
There's nobody in the road
just cars and, behind closed doors,
worlds unfold and meals are eaten,
work ends or is about to begin,
and sounds next door of footsteps
on wooden stairs, and the occasional
cry of a child or shriek of delight
echoes through our home bathed
in a golden glow this evening.
A solitary seagull wheels in the sky
catching the sunlight on wings
beating slowly, lazily in the golden
light. A pigeon sits breast puffed
in contented rest on a roof
before it goes to find a roost.
Soft clouds like ice cream
pepper the pale blue of a hazy
sky and the gold grows deeper
and more beautiful as the moments
pass on this tranquil evening in Spring.
The morning dew bends fragile petals
imparting a kiss, a refreshment
after the sleep of night.
Butterflies sip while insects
quench their thirst before
the dew drips down to water
the soil as the sun rises high
evaporating it away.
A soft awakening for the day,
a gentle touch by Nature
to nourish life.
The plants embrace the gift
freely given from above
as they stir, unfolding petals,
leaves and stretching forth,
reach up to the sky.
Spiders' webs with diamonds
glitter in the new born sun,
trembling on soft breezes
as their creators sit resplendent
in the centre regarding their work
with multifaceted eyes,
to wait patiently for breakfast
to come their way.
And the birds trill out their songs
as the earth awakens fully,
viewing, unseen in leafy bowers,
prospective meals amongst the leaves
and in flower beds or lawns
food to feed their young
chittering in their nests
perched amid the trees.
On such a day when peace reigns
the earth seems whole,
untouched, safe within Nature's
embrace. A moment when all is well,
an omen of what should be
and will be if Gaia's will
triumphs over abuse for gain,
a glimpse of hope for all.
Take a smidgen of this and a drop of that
and what have you got? A mess of potage,
or a complex brew, an interesting stew
or an explosive concoction that blew
the roof off the laboratory just now,
which has landed on a nearby cottage,
much to the outrage of its owner
out picking onions from his veg plot,
and now it's all he has got
because his home is in ruins.
So the next time the scientist takes
a smidgen of this and a drop of that,
he'd better make damned sure
his neighbours' homes are secure,
and takes proper precautions to ensure
that his mixtures are not capable
of exploding making him liable
for large insurance payments
and the end of his contractual arrangements
with an employer who only wanted
an insect spray, not one that decanted
them into a million pieces in one go.
The scientist, smitten with remorse,
had to admit it was par for the course
before he packed his things
to see what the next job brings.
The Tale of a Knight
It was an airy fairy day in the middle of May
when the knight came a riding down the lane
his armour shone in bright lit sun
and his lance was as sharp as a woman's tongue.
His steed was proud and high stepping,
haughty with its long mane flowing.
A veritable picture of chivalry were this horse
and its rider as they rode by the golden gorse.
Following at a running pace was his squire.
A well built fellow with ruddy face
and flaxen hair looking smart in his crimson vest
but out of breath now and in need of a rest.
The knight oblivious to his squire's distress,
trotted, regardless, on his way until a shout
pierced his helmet and slowed him down
‘Sorry, m'lord, but I've had a fall,' made him frown.
With armour attired, the knight could not turn
so had to make his steed go round instead,
then he saw his squire lying on the ground
with a face grimacing with agony profound.
‘Gadzooks, squire, tis not your day.'
The knight proclaimed, and ‘Here am I
on my way to plight my troth to a beauteous maid,
and you're ill disposed and in a road laid.'
The squire made a might effort to rise
but collapsed again with a loud shout.
The knight sighed. ‘Stay where you are.
I'll send help, the castle's not too far.'
And with that, he turned his steed around
to continue on his way, and the squire,
checking his broken leg, hoped he'd be quick
because now he was feeling rather sick.
The end of the tale was not a happy one.
The squire waited into the night
until a traveller in a wagon rescued him
in a dead faint from his broken limb.
The knight and his steed never arrived
at the castle keep. The beauteous maid
accepted the hand of another warrior bold
and the squire was left out in the cold.
To this day, no one knows where the knight
went but some say he rides the lane
in the dead of night with his trusty steed
searching for his squire, a tall tale indeed!
A Roving Eye
‘I have a roving eye,' said he
as he took it out and polished
it with care then returned it
to the hole before winking at me.
I like a pretty face and pert
shape and there's something
about the nape of a neck', said he,
‘that keeps me always alert.'
He gave a cheerful grin,
his eye swivelling to and fro
making me feel quite dizzy
not sure whether it was out or in.
‘Where did you lose your eye' said I,
trying not to seem too nosey
but he didn't appear affronted.
Said he, ‘I lost it being a spy.'
‘Oh,' said I, ‘was that exciting?'
He gave a throaty chuckle
‘No, not really,' said he, ‘I was
looking through a keyhole spying.
My sexy neighbour spotted me,
and, in a thrice, she poked her finger
through the hole, and I lost my eye
but she's now my wife so I'm not angry.
I took my leave of him after that,
a chance meeting of a cheery man
and as I looked back, he waved,
swivelled his eye then raised his hat.
Evening on the Porch
In the quiet of the evening
the muffled sound of a distant voice
from a radio somewhere
breaks into music laid back
jazz to fill the warm night air.
The buzz of a worker bee
on its way home drifts
across ears straining to hear
the last of the birds' songs
while seated on the porch
with ice cold beer in hand
watching the world go by.
Kids cycling past on their way
to friends or taking a ride
to cool down in the sultry
evening while parents
sit after dinner watching TV.
Their lights flickering
through windows like strobes
flashing indecipherable codes
across the street at the end
of hot Summer's day.
Light, bright and pretty laid back
That's my mood today.
It can vary though right through to black
When I'm feeling bright and breezy
I'm contented and at ease
But it can change quite quickly
An underlying insecurity can arise
Rushing over me like a tsunami
Taking me completely by surprise
Untangling knots of a dark memory
Isn't something I enjoy
So make haste to change the scenery
Most times right now I'm happy
But can snap and snarl
Should something unforeseen upset me
I guess this is the lot of all humans
Subject to the mind's whims
Leaving us with not a lot of options
We have to go with the flow
Deal with the light and dark
As we swing from joy to sorrow
All the time we live in hope
That one day true peace will descend
Meanwhile we just learn to cope
I bumped into him absentmindedly
and said ‘oh, excuse me',
he smiling said ‘No, it was me',
and now, with baby,
we have become three.
He asked me to dance
I nodded my acceptance.
He whirled me off my feet
and returned me to my seat,
we married the following year.
I caught my heel in a gap,
he released me from the trap
but broke my shoe
which was almost brand new.
After that, our love just grew.
It was a blind date
but it sealed our fate.
He was not my dream
and I wasn't his it seemed
but love can't see when Cupid schemed.
So many ways to meet the one
out of everybody under the sun,
more often by chance
or a certain magnetic glance
and you've met that one in a million.
If you've found a love that's true
then sadly you're among the few,
for today love flies out the door
over countless things lovers can't ignore
but few cease their search for someone new.
It's the lot of most human beings
to see offspring as blessings
so love will spring eternal,
because Nature is basically carnal
which makes most us sing from the same hymnal.
Nothing to do
When you find yourself with nothing to do,
do you feel bored and seek to fill the space
or do you take it as a gift and sit still,
taking a respite from the rat race
and accept with goodwill
that not every moment of your day
will find you occupied and busy,
and that this might be a time to play,
to take a breather once in a while.
For without these breaks in activity
our brains would soon become senile,
and, before long, definitely faulty.
No thing on earth does not rest
from plants to trees to creatures,
all know why taking a break is best.
So when next you find these junctures
make sure you do not fret or fume
but gratefully sit back and enjoy them
and don't see them as a vacuum
but an escape from the daily mayhem.
A gift from Nature to rest our brain.
On any day
On a cloudy day you can feel
the world is against you,
or it's a chance to be still.
On a cloudless day you can feel
The world is full of hope
Or it's an affront to your despair.
On a rainy day you can feel
the world is weeping for you
or it's watering the land.
On a windy day you can feel
the world is out of kilter
or it's time to take shelter.
On a misty day you can feel
the world is hidden from sight
or it's mirroring your life.
On a snowy day you can feel
the world is wearing a shroud
or it's clothed in pristine white.
On an icy day you can feel
the world is frozen with cold
or it's time to build a fire.
On any day you can feel
the world is hard and cruel
or it's full of joys and dreams.
On any day, you can feel
complete, you can feel free
and be what you're meant to be.
When happiness is replete
life can seem so sweet,
though frequently fleeting
there are times when its longevity
is both delightful and surprising.
There has come a time in my life
when it is free of strife,
I have everything I need,
people to love, a home,
and laughter, great gifts indeed.
After much hardship and sorrow
we have space to grow,
and what seemed so far away
has arrived at last, happiness
and joy with time enough to play.
My fellow human beings
Once I looked on a stranger
as a fellow human being
trying to survive like me
whatever life sent our way,
then I was young
and had no fear.
Now I look on a stranger
and see a stranger still,
in an instant and fear
of too closer a contact.
Age and observation
have coloured my attitude
not for the better
but for the worse,
no deliberate turning away
but now with caution imbued.
I want to embrace all
but my world has shrunk
in size to a few associates
and one or two close friends
when once my door was open
now it's only just ajar.
If things got really bad
I know I would see all again
as the same as me,
and would open wide my door
to embrace all in need,
but, for now, I have needs.
A need for peace,
for thought and reflection
to see a path ahead
when mine is narrowing,
and walk my own way
but keep my heart open wide.
We want a strong leader,
but not a despot.
We want freedom
with no censorship.
We want democracy
with honest politicians
We want to protect our country
so will defend it at all costs.
We have our own rituals
that are sacrosanct.
We only use aggression
if threatened by an enemy.
We believe we're superior
with our long history.
We look on our politicians
and see weakness.
We look on other leaders
and see oppression.
We look out at the world
and see confusion.
We contemplate the future
with varying degrees of hope.
We consider the past
with varying degrees of nostalgia.
We regard our way of life
as the best of all possible worlds.
We consume tranquillisers
to make life easier.
We tighten our belts
when we lose our jobs.
We look at our children
and wonder will they survive.
We look at the earth
and see that it's suffering.
We look at the stars
and see that we are tiny.
We look to gods
but they don't answer.
We all know one thing,
there has to be a better way to live.
We get nowhere with despair
now we know we're alone.
We have it inside of us
to overcome all obstacles.
We are humankind,
a plague, but wondrous as well.
Cherry blossom heralds Spring
with petalled delicacy replete.
A garland fit for the season
of fertility and rebirth.
Blowing soft on light breezes,
it sits amidst the leafless branches,
a wondrous display of white,
pink, cream and lightest mauve.
Soon to draw out new leaves
of softest green, brown, or russet
red. A feast for the eye
and food for the spirit
after long months of cold,
a glorious awakening to greet
Beltane and raise up bodies
weary of ice and snow
with the shining fire of cherry
blossom at the advent of Spring.
A Salutary Tale
The human mind and body need time to rest,
to still the thoughts and activity
and allow both a time of passivity.
A mind that constantly seethes with facts,
with thoughts and recollections,
needs to unwind from these reflections.
A body that never sits and relaxes
will damage organs, weary muscles
and invite a host of troubles.
These two elements that make up every human
need treating with respect and consideration
to ensure their ideal operation.
Feed one and ignore the other
will lead to a breakdown of both
for each relies on the other for healthy growth.
And so a break from toil and trouble
is essential for a happy life
freed for a while from daily strife.
So if your head aches, and your body is weary,
it's definitely time to take that break
and drop everything for your sanity's sake.
The Celestial Marriage
The bounteous star that lights our days
warms our planet, sustains us,
maintains us and lifts our spirits.
Once worshipped as a god,
adored and had sacrifices
laid on altars with living hearts
to ensure his return each morn.
Now described in scientific terms
but never losing his poetic
majesty as he rides across the sky
from dawn to dusk to give way
each day to the lady of the night,
his consort, the pale mystery
that is the moon. Cast off from earth
aeons ago when it was forming,
but could never break the bond
that held her fast, nor abandon the sun
for, in their kinship, the planet
obeys the moon's calling, rising
and falling in obedience to her
magnetic charm, while the sun
exalts each day as he gives way
to bow out for a nightly respite
while he lights one side of the world
and she reigns over the dark
on the other until they meet
in a single embrace when
she eclipses her consort for a brief
kiss before parting again.
Then letting him take his throne
once more in the dance of day
and night across the earth,
which has been going on
since it came to birth,
when the Universe was born
and all this came to be
when a star burst into being
and a moon tamed its fiery
heart, forever united, forever
loved, for both give life
and will do so until their death.
Inner turmoil comes and goes.
The lot of the human mind
when confronting all its woes
while living amongst humankind.
All humans are essentially alone.
The mind isolated from all others
creates a place of its own
to survive all weathers.
Times of peace seem rare
but precious and appreciated
when they are there
and all anxieties have abated.
From birth through to death,
humans cannot escape their fate
till they take their last breath
it is their given state.
Between these highs and lows
there are times of joys and dreams
bringing comfort to human egos,
one of Nature's gentle streams.
And so the mind muddles through,
a complex riddle of existence
in the hope that what is true
will one day reveal its presence.
Meanwhile all try to survive
through many a trauma and trial
grateful to be still alive,
most finding life gloriously worthwhile.
The Joys of Motherhood
A mother's love can be powerful
beyond words, or weak
to the point of being absent.
The first can be overpowering,
the second leave a deep hole
inside that forever needs filling.
With absence, it can cause a pain
that ceases only when the mother dies.
When overpowering, it can stunt growth
causing dependence throughout a life,
a way of living that is most unwise.
Finding the happy medium
is a balancing act for every mother
achieved, hopefully, by most,
but never reached by some, the result
is screwed up adults doing their utmost
to break the umbilical cord or tie it back
on again as if it had come loose.
Oh, the joys of motherhood,
how many say if they had their time
around again, they would not bear children.
How sad that the experience
can be so very sour and wounding
when it should bring joy and satisfaction.
But still the birth rate might decrease
in one corner only in another to increase,
with the desire to reproduce
far more powerful than the pain induced,
and so mothers will give birth
again, and again and again as ordained
by deities to people the earth,
and their children will love them as infants
and, hopefully, when grown to adults
love them from near or far, and accept them
for what they really are, all fallible
human beings doing the best they can
even if, in the end, they fail completely.
An evening pink kissed sky
holds the promise of a fine tomorrow.
Like a gentle embrace at the end
of a day, an assurance of blue skies
to come, and we rest content
that all will be well when we rise
from our sleep, rested and certain,
when we draw back the curtains,
to see light flowing in to fill
our world with the rays of the sun.
A promise fulfilled to welcome
in a new day, Nature's way
of forecasting something to look
forward to, and appreciate
the beauty of a fleeting pink
kissed sky as we say goodbye
to the passing day.
Like a Plaintive Child
A cry for attention
like a plaintive child
rises up at any age.
In a world of billions,
The need to shout,
say or whisper
‘I am here' stirs at times
with a clamour
that won't be calmed
until the fragile ego
is stroked by caring
hands or a loving heart.
Rare the individual
who can live
indifferent that nobody
acknowledges their being.
Most shrivel without
love or wither
from lack of company.
A tantrum often hides
a lonely spirit inside,
scared of ending
Life alone with none
to care for or caress.
Fortunate are those
who have such love.
A gift to cherish,
to share until the time
to part, which comes
to all one day,
then the awareness
so dreaded, loneliness
returns once more,
and like a plaintive child,
the cry for attention
will echo deep inside
which none might hear
when years have passed,
but the need won't vanish,
destroys at any age.
Often the weather reflects your mood
when grey clouds cast their shadows
on the earth and light seems far away,
stand still and ponder on all the ways
Nature mirrors what we feel inside,
be it overcast and chilled
or stormy with roiling thunder
And lightning flashes across dark skies,
or playful breezes lifting spirits
in sunlit days when all is bright
and warm, or hot, sultry times
when all you want to do is laze around,
when the ground feels hot
beneath your feet and insects
buzz in the summer's heat.
And then at other times, ice cold
and bitter to the touch, or white
and pristine as untouched snow
when you want to stand aloof
from the world and be alone.
In rain, light and friendly, a source
of nourishment for life
but also savage when pelting down
destroying all with a flood
like vitriol as Nature releases venom
on the land to sweep away
what it created only yesterday.
And then the times of mist arrive
when you cannot see clearly
what lies ahead, nor recall what lies
behind with perfect clarity,
and fogged in with uncertainty
you feel around for firmer ground
until it clears and the path ahead
is there, though not necessarily where
you thought it was, and taking
tentative steps in the new clear air
set out on your way with Nature's
moods reflecting yours and making
you aware that Nature and you
walk together in the world,
a willing coalition, a pigeon pair.
Light of touch, a zephyr
brushes past my cheek
stirring catkins on the trees
and rousing memories
as it flows gently on its way.
Kissing petals, rustling leaves,
a whisper of things to come
or a ghost from a time past,
a face appears and disappears,
a familiar laugh echoes softly,
a recollection of a love
once so precious now gone,
a joy embraced and let go,
a sadness recalled dimly,
a tear shed over loss
as it flows gently on its way
the lightest of touches
a zephyr, the breeze today.
Filling in Time
Filling in time is a strange activity,
it could infer nothing better to do,
or too much time on our hands,
alternatively, a time for creativity.
Whichever way it is, it could be used
as a time of increased productivity
when you realize you have time
to do something that has you enthused.
Wasting time is not the same,
but, oddly enough, is not bad at all,
to sit still and do nothing
is a most therapeutic aim.
All creatures have time to spare
to fill with play, rest or contemplation.
It seems, in the hectic world,
every living thing must come for air.
So, if there comes a time,
when nothing comes to mind to do,
just sit down and let your brain unwind
and you'll find life is actually sublime.
Sleep, the narcotic of the brain,
essential for sanity to retain.
A means of unravelling knots
and entangled neurons and lots
of other unresolved issues
that each day suffuse
the tissues of our minds
with all different kinds
of dilemmas needing sleep
to solve, providing a clean sweep
of unnecessary garbage
and getting rid of baggage
we could really do without
to prevent a serious burnout
of overworked neurons,
which took Nature aeons
to create and provided
a natural cure which prevented
a breakdown or psychosis
by not allowing dreamless
states to go on for long
leading to lots going wrong
in the area of the brain,
ending up with stress and strain
and, possibly madness
in the end, if stillness
and peace, which Morpheus
should bring when darkness
descends, does not come,
then this is a symptom
that cannot be ignored
else deep trouble is stored,
and the brain will succumb
to fatigue, and be overcome
with terrors and anxiety,
with no guarantee that sanity
will return unless the mind
has a chance to unwind.
So, praise the gift of sleep,
whether light or deep,
for without its resting state
all worries cannot abate,
and any with a brain not survive
because none could stay alive.
A Pearl beyond Worth
Tender moments make life
leap for joy and exalt
in the beauty of a look,
a touch, a smile from eyes
that shine with love
and bring tears glistening
in the beloved's eyes
when seeing with pristine
clarity how glorious
is love in a pure moment.
It etches its presence
into our memories forever
and until death remains
a sweet taste of an instant
so rare it is a treasure
sought by all but not always
found, but oh so fortunate
if seen in a life time.
No wealth can match it,
a pearl beyond worth,
a moment in time
when it stood still
and love came shining through.
An unruly Spirit
Calm, calm, I persuade myself
with cajoling tones, hoping
to soothe the wild spirit raging
inside, trying not to believe
it's madness talking to oneself.
It rises up with no warning,
all fire and brimstone, anger
flaring, and I know I'm in danger
of overreacting so work hard
to still the storm from its dawning.
And oh so slowly it subsides
as Reason restores its wise hold,
keeping the fires controlled,
with gentleness and understanding
I return to where peace abides.
This raging spirit I hold dear,
not to be discarded or rejected.
It is the urge for wrongs to be righted,
a passionate desire for wholeness
and the end of impotent fear.
It and I have lived together
long years now, and it has stayed
with me fighting its own crusade.
No longer can I discern whether I hold
on to it or it to me, a symbiotic merger.
The Wonder of No Thing
From out of a world of no thing
came all that is,
when electrons, one matter
one anti, popped into being
spreading out with alacrity
until the anti was defeated
and matter was triumphant.
With all the energy embedded
in time and space,
its hold and formed
galaxies and star nurseries
filling the once empty vacuum
with a desire so ardent
to be known that sentient
Life was born, minds
so infinitesimally small
compared to it all,
but with a wondrous
capacity to touch the whole,
to discover the where,
the why, and the how
over time, and yet,
for all the immensity
of such a gift,
many minds see domination
as their goal and fail
to grasp the import
of their being, and export
war and strife
wasting their reason
for being and destroying
peace, but still the electrons
survive here and there
and everywhere, popping
in and out of being
ensuring matter stays,
and the days of tyrants
die then sentient life
can study the Cosmos
and stand in awe
at how so much could come
out of no thing at all.
‘There's light at the end of the tunnel,'
he said, but I could only stare in dread
for all was darkness in my mind
and my guide I feared had lied.
‘You must see past the present,'
he said, but I could not look ahead.
The only thing that I could see
was my guide driving me to hide.
‘It takes courage to let go of pain,'
he said, but I held on instead,
afraid that I would forget it all
and that my guide wasn't on my side.
‘I will have to leave you soon,'
he said, at which all hope fled
I begged him to stay a little longer
and my guide with patience sighed.
‘One last look I beg you take,'
he said, and I, fearfully, raised my head
and saw the merest flicker in the dark
and my guide saw my pain subside.
‘Time to go now you've seen the light,'
he said, and I saw a new future outspread
as the flicker grew in brightness
and my guide faded as I was healed inside.
In the Passage of Time
The touch of a loving hand
restores serenity to a troubled
mind and heart.
A bond of tenderness binds
two as one after years
of growing together
until mind to mind
can meld and thoughts
merge in peaceful
To watch bodies age
ever watchful for signs
of sickness or ill health,
far more important
than wealth when time
takes its toll
and parts begin
to fail or deteriorate,
and sight weakens,
and mobility reduces,
but the heart still
cherishes the other,
if not more strongly
than in the flush of youth
when life was rushing by
of the other was lost
for a while to return
when age had begun
to wither the body,
and serenity became
embodied over time
to bring contentment,
joy and laughter
when two became one
in the passage of time.