first there’s love
then there’s laughter
then more problems come after
the day has been long
all my words have been wrong
maybe you thought i was stronger
have your own way
have the last say
i wont ask you to stay
hitting the start button
logging off sweetheart
system shutting down
eight years old
i stood and stared at the floor,
a mosaic pattern
of intertwined flowers,
the pattern always there,
leaning my back against the cold wall
as mirror, clock and chair
and box after box
went out of the open door
where laughter had echoed before
i heard the wind sigh in the rafters
and the creak of the wood on the stair
there was nothing but empty rooms
the flowers drooped their heads in the garden
as i did, in despair, in the hallway
at a death that had come to soon
i saw no adventure ahead
nothing remained
nothing bloomed
after the gardener was dead
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all;
There are none to decline your nectar’d wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.
Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.
I am not posting much poetry just for the moment as i am working on third book of trilogy (slowly) and also writing a short tale for Halloween (which I will post here later)
So the muse has eyes elsewhere and i don’t want to make her too dizzy :) But I never know what she will turn up with next anyway.
The magpie perches in a tree
His fellow flies across my view
Static sorrow
Passing joy
where the river flows I may never know
but i remember the spring in the mountains
where it falls from great heights
and runs clear and bright
tumbling in glistening fountains
and wends its way down
replenishing wells
filling the thirsty cup
inspiration of dreams
it’s the source of all life
my mind flows away on its ripples
i follow its flow
down from the source
to its greener pastures
.
without it there’s drought
the dryness of earth comes to nothing
the howl of this desolate place
is the summation of me
out in the snowy wastes
alone, unloved and free
the wind is the music of flutes
leaping over my roof
pure and constant and clear
a perfect prayer
Peering ahead into sunlight will dazzle.
Searching the shadows and dark
Leaves you bewildered and blind.
Keep the fires of hope aflame
Seek the magical spark
Don’t get entangled
in troublesome briars
Honour the path you find
Live with a tranquil mind
is it where i am going ?
or the place from which i came?
a place i knew so long ago
but a mirage to me now
and life is not the same
it’s a dream that pulls me
i don’t know why or where
or how to reach my hand to it
or which path to take
no path can take me there
i don’t know what to do
it’s an island out to sea,
a lake of deep reflections,
a far horizon, faded blue,
twisting at my memory
its fingers stroke my soul
with the echo of an ache,
a phantom of a sigh
held deep inside my chest.
i am not where i belong,
an exile from a land
that hides behind a shadow
in the wistfulness of song
when it turns to minor key
and melts so far away
in mournful, tender harmony.
without it i am homesick
for something i cant name
its at the heart of me
wistful, so, so, wistful
i think my heart will break
if i don’t close my eyes
and slowly turn away
****************
Hiraeth is a Welsh word with no direct translation
Sometimes defined vaguely as nostalgia, wistfulness, longing, “a homesickness for a home you cannot return to, or that never was”. But nothing can quite sum it up. I know exactly how it feels but naming it is something else.
Hiraeth bears similarities with the Portuguese concept of saudade (a key theme in Fado music), Brazilian Portuguese “banzo” (more related to homesickness), Turkish gurbet, Galician morriña, Romanian dor.
The Dreaming Path 