Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
Natures Love (Show How)
Tend the flowerbed
By the butterfly
Wonder why
The ladybird wanders
A quiet afternoon - quite easily
Only you inside your own borders
At one with your earth orders
Toil away, enrich your soul
Meadow grass, poppy, daisy
Lazy daze on a hazy afternoon
In the place to swoon
Between dreams and slumber
The sun full on
Your warmth of skin
Massage slow, mellow in
Pour oil all over
Tend the humanity
Rest with all the above
Show how natures love
Creates patience
http://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/massage-slow-mellow-in/id485037810?mt=11
Monday, 12 December 2011
Churchyards and hilltops
Love & dust
So close they spoke together
If ever you have been
Deep into the quiet country
You know that someone was born here
But you were not here, at the birth
Or even at the death, except
That now you touch the silence
Smell the yew, how do you do that
Be true, to the truth inside of you
Laid down now; deep, yet here beside you
Earlier the breeze, on the plateau
Of the long grass, the grasses danced &
Swayed, played for Mother Earth’s fair children
Who listened, and beside the stillness
The starless sky; the orange moon in the
Grass filled camera’s eye
The still moon, that sent just, justly
The love and dust; now they walk
Forever, they go on further than before
Yet unexpected they come upon
And are frightened
Fearful, at the sight of the once opened door
Dusk turns into full on darkness
The churchyard says go silent
Silent into the dark of darkest night
This poem is from the pamphlet Rainbows On My Spectacles - Love Through a Lens
To see the complete collection click anywhere on this text
Sunday, 11 December 2011
A few days ago
It was seven when we set off to sea
But even before we were lost
We had changed our destination
We had spoke of going to this place
To listen to the silence
To make love with nature
In nature with the noise of nothingness
To be there, with peace
With the richness of life's love all around us.
The festival is a few weeks away
Yet already the campers have begun to arrive
Their half-barrel barbecues happily burn
Fed with the twigs of beech and hazel
Undisturbed we climb the stile
With its water tap and electric light
We wander off, out among the grasses
You lead on
We pull our clothes away, gently and together
I take a photograph of my shadow
Of your stature, of the swaying grasses
In the space that is somehow between us
We wonder at the wondrous land & skyscapes
Lay lightly down; with our love beside us
Stillness brings the unspoken meditation
For which we thank, for which we bless
We rise, just as the moon rose above us
We each take each others picture
We each take the moons picture
Hold hands and slowly stroll
Find our way back, slowly onwards
On from this place
A place we might call heaven
The moon is full
A few days ago
After our walk through Tennyson county
We had talked of returning to the church
In the still of night
The old map-book shows
That Tetford and Somersby have survived
Both are feintly found
On the torn out plotted paper
And by our slow drive
With the surest of directions
We arrive, park up under the light
Of the half lit telephone box
Across the road is Tennyson’s birthplace
Next door to the castellated manor house
Which itself is scenically misplaced
And fades into a decaying diversion
The churchyard gate is open
Old yews stand eerily still
We stand, chilled together
At the half-opened unbolted door
I feel afraid, I feel your fear
We enter as if into a presence
The door is left open
We hug; our fear is transferred
Passed through
One to the other
Onwards into that place
That no one ever knows
After a while we sit in the pews
I cannot settle
Anyway this is your place
The silent beauty suits you
It belongs to you
I stand aside
Reflect back
Smile upon your stillness
We walk at zero pace
Ambling
Without haste or urgency
Back to the parked car
The moon is full
The sky clear, well almost
Just a shade of sodium
Just a wisp of cloud
We drive off
Moths dance
In the headlights glare
We are heading home
Tonight we entered
Into the land of magic
Tonight we emerged
From the loss of love
This poem is from the pamphlet Rainbows On My Spectacles - Love Through a Lens
To see the complete collection click anywhere on this text
Saturday, 10 December 2011
Nowhere that we need to be
Moths
Caught
In the full beam
Of the halogen headlights
They dance
Dance to the music
Dance to the spirit
Or dance
To the silence of the summer
Listen out
For the ever present
Resonant frequencies
The still born silence of death
Forever
Somewhere or hereabouts
In deep sleep’s
Midnight air
Dance to that time of time ago
When madness was protected
By the curse of childlessness
On future generations
Walk nine miles or for nigh on ninety years
To be nowhere now that we need to be
There to set free, to see the grief
Believe the spectacle of families torn apart
Silently in silence we wonder
Would we be here if
Without of our own furrowed brows
Without those doubts and burdens
If we
As they had not to say
That this is the past
The last and final curtain
The hoedown
The showdown
The windblown ground
Around the gravestones
Of the slowdown motel
She then, betrothed and ached
Once, which was one time too many
She caught on
Yet for whose sake
Did she fall short of the full term dream
Who set up those bewitched, barbaric deadlines
Headlines now; but back then it seems
An everyday occurrence
This poem is from the pamphlet Rainbows On My Spectacles - Love Through a Lens
To see the complete collection click anywhere on this text
Friday, 9 December 2011
About eight
Stalled
Seven tall
Into the set of sun
Stopped
Then dropped
This war my course has run
No one knows
These words I shout
No one understands
Always doubt
My words about
And no one gives a damn
So let me set it straight
Nothing clever, wait
Pray let me hesitate
Simply a celebration
Rows of poppies
In a wild garden
About eight in the evening
A setting sun
In the first few days of summer
A photograph
You smile, we laugh
The light catches all our crinkles
We’ve sprinkled magic dust
On our generations rust
Just in time to mingle, single & free
This poem is from the pamphlet Rainbows On My Spectacles - Love Through a Lens
To see the complete collection click anywhere on this text
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