I am that young soul
Among the old soul
I am that full life
Among the half-life
I am that lover
Among the good love
I am here to rediscover
Among the undercover
I am that leaf in the fall
That leaf of a still silent call
I am that there thief in this here way
That thief for whom silence comes to pray
I am that white cloud
In the mostly blue sky shroud
I am that freedom found
That freedom to walk on solid ground
I am that paddler in the stream
The paddler with the lucid dream
I am that escapist from the seam
Escaping to where or when I seem
I am that certainty of moments
Certain in almost all of the moments
I am that old man growing older
I am that bright light, the one-time foot soldier
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
Thursday 4 April 2019
Wednesday 3 April 2019
Fifty Four
This room is not so sad
As that of the previous verses
The light here is clearer
The time here holds more truth than love
What I seek is of creation
Yet not yet turned to words
What I seek out is regeneration
Yet not from the stasis of the broken man
That I am here now does say
That the moon, the stars, the sun
The love, the lust; they have all conspired
To play their part in my growth
These grounds, these buildings
Now carry way less melancholy
They offer hope, they exude a brightness
A sure sign that the love of life belongs here
What I sought here before
May have been based on recrimination
Of myself, for at least from one other
I thought I deserved a detailed explanation
That I was here, does show
That I was in need of help
The generous words, the actions, the people
They all played their incredibly supportive part
As that of the previous verses
The light here is clearer
The time here holds more truth than love
What I seek is of creation
Yet not yet turned to words
What I seek out is regeneration
Yet not from the stasis of the broken man
That I am here now does say
That the moon, the stars, the sun
The love, the lust; they have all conspired
To play their part in my growth
These grounds, these buildings
Now carry way less melancholy
They offer hope, they exude a brightness
A sure sign that the love of life belongs here
What I sought here before
May have been based on recrimination
Of myself, for at least from one other
I thought I deserved a detailed explanation
That I was here, does show
That I was in need of help
The generous words, the actions, the people
They all played their incredibly supportive part
Tuesday 2 April 2019
Fifty Three
Is this the place
You made your own
Is this the only option
That you were offered
Are your words worth more
Or are they more needy
Do you require silk or velvet
To remember more cushioned times
For mostly what we read from you
Are of good times, better times
Sensual times, sexual times
Music in the musk of love times
We neither ask, nor seek apology
For we too are fond of skin on skin
Of bare, sun-tanned bellies
Of thighs wantonly straddling thighs
Why would you not recreate such worlds
If that were in any way possible
Or, as is surely more likely in your case
The only pathway that one is able to follow
Yet one ought to be aware, to be beware
That in the giddiness, in the richness, of this
Famously, fabulously, hot summer, the inviting
Open breasted blouse comes at quite a price
You made your own
Is this the only option
That you were offered
Are your words worth more
Or are they more needy
Do you require silk or velvet
To remember more cushioned times
For mostly what we read from you
Are of good times, better times
Sensual times, sexual times
Music in the musk of love times
We neither ask, nor seek apology
For we too are fond of skin on skin
Of bare, sun-tanned bellies
Of thighs wantonly straddling thighs
Why would you not recreate such worlds
If that were in any way possible
Or, as is surely more likely in your case
The only pathway that one is able to follow
Yet one ought to be aware, to be beware
That in the giddiness, in the richness, of this
Famously, fabulously, hot summer, the inviting
Open breasted blouse comes at quite a price
Monday 1 April 2019
Fifty Two
It wouldn’t do
To rewrite here the shorter poems
They will have a separate volume
Presently I sit on a chair
Sculpted
From a single piece of wood
Such satisfaction for the carver
The shaper, the sander
The smoother
Yet now, out in the long summer of sun
The wood is dry
Cracks are widening
Yes, there is a scent
Of eucalyptus, though
I fear the timber needs more than a whiff
I myself bask in the sunlight
Listen to the laughter
In the nearby tearoom
Where once, so I fancifully presume
The artisan craftsman
Took his well-deserved breaks
To rewrite here the shorter poems
They will have a separate volume
Presently I sit on a chair
Sculpted
From a single piece of wood
Such satisfaction for the carver
The shaper, the sander
The smoother
Yet now, out in the long summer of sun
The wood is dry
Cracks are widening
Yes, there is a scent
Of eucalyptus, though
I fear the timber needs more than a whiff
I myself bask in the sunlight
Listen to the laughter
In the nearby tearoom
Where once, so I fancifully presume
The artisan craftsman
Took his well-deserved breaks
Sunday 31 March 2019
Fifty One
I arrived early
Time to sit
Time to write
Time to wait
For the doctor’s telephone call
I have taken a photograph
Of the pond
With Lotus leaf
I have made a video
Of the waterfall splashing
There is another notebook
I bought it in Royal Tunbridge Wells
It is a smaller affair
Which encourages me
To write shorter poems
Yet this book carries with it
An authenticity
For with this book there was planning
Now there will be execution
Time to sit
Time to write
Time to wait
For the doctor’s telephone call
I have taken a photograph
Of the pond
With Lotus leaf
I have made a video
Of the waterfall splashing
There is another notebook
I bought it in Royal Tunbridge Wells
It is a smaller affair
Which encourages me
To write shorter poems
Yet this book carries with it
An authenticity
For with this book there was planning
Now there will be execution
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