good poem
To cross
you must first
trust the strands
to hold.
The second tentative
step precedes
the next,
each successive one
gaining strength:
here to
there, now
to then, a summoning of
entreaties
within
one’s faith.
Vapor meets cooler air,
forming droplets,
clouding the far side.
I have feared endings
and the strictures of the unseen,
but here
in this vast
swaying,
I know
one line
bisects the void.
Go gentle, gentle, into that good night
Old age brings acceptance of this last fate
Fly, fly to the beckoning, golden light
All seasons will end by pre-ordained right
The wise men know that when the hour is late
Their soul will take leave for eternal light
Good men do not fear the long, deep dark night.
Do not rage, sadly berating your fate,
Go gentle and rest, return to the light
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
Will sing in their dreams with no wish to wait
They will fly swiftly, to shining, bright light
Grave men will ponder the beauty of night
They will pray tenderly, knowing their fate,
Remembering all that was loving, bright
And you my father, in that blessed night
Look upon me, with no sadness, and wait
I will not rage at the death of the light
I will go gentle into that good night
***************************
(sorry Mr Thomas – you know this means no disrespect – you are my favourite poet after Shakespeare – and I will pray for you often)
leaping off from a mountain top
grasping the trail of a star
alive on the cosmic roller-coaster
clinging on for dear life
to a hope, a wish, an idea
the tender world spread out below
looks up to the shining sky
All around is illumination
Blazing with wisdom and joy
Open the doors wide to life
Inspired and at one with creation
The world needs your light
Let it shine
throat of a blackbird
opens to sing the morning
dew sparkle on lawns
ocean
blue
depths
unexplored
mountains
high
hard to climb
lovely view
freedom
mythology
choice
mythical
two roads
crossroads
belonging
to mystery
honour,
if only
dreams
are for dreaming
Love,
what about love?
define it
refine it
think
you love me now?
love is
what i thought
i did
I have heard it said that purple and mauve
stand for memory, nostalgia, or loss.
Lavender scented cupboards spring to mind.
I know that purple is yellow and blue,
mixed by an artist’s brush
Summer skies, cornflowers, sunflowers,
sunshine and bluebells in spring,
daffodils, delphiniums,
bunting across the street,
blue doors in white walls
under an awning that flapped in the wind,
a boat on a tossing sea breeze,
blue ripples across the bay,
a beach ball of summer stripes thrown up to the sun,
the bucket and spade we left behind
on that glowing yellow day
Our memories shine in full colour
or age to a lesser thing
this is a found poem – it comes from my tag cloud on this blog and so it consists of words I use a lot in poems……….
*********************
My Obsessions.
Ancient bards and books,
a breeze full of butterflies
above the Celtic hills.
Cities, clouds, the dance of death,
a desert dragons dream,
dreaming dreams with evening eyes
of fateful fantasy and fire
with firelight in the forest garden
where a girl with a haiku
plays a harp and sings
of heart and home and horses.
Imagination kindles lakes,
leaves, land and love,
love, always love,
magic memories of moons
moonlight, morning music.
At night, the oak overshadows
oceans of passion
paths of peace and perfume,
poems of rain and ravens,
the rocks, the river,
roses by the sea.
The sky a silver smile
when the snows come,
then the song of spring,
sunlight and starlight.
Time towers above the trees.
The wings of winter spread again
above a woodland made of words
nothing to say about this that is not said in the poem
Forget the clear blue sky
forget the golden shore
forget the secrete pathways
that others walked before
forget the drinks in coconuts
that exploit the passing trade
you go in search of paradise
in the wrong place i’m afraid
Forget the packaged desert islands
with a culture oh so fake
forget the holiday hot spots
that were designed to take
forget mind numbing tours
with nothing new to find
my friend I tell you paradise
is just a state of mind
Some find it in a crowed room
some find it on there own
some find it in a sacred place
where they go to atone
some find it by a babbling brook
or a car festooned with chrome
but some will tell you paradise
is to simply have a home
By
Forty Two
© Forty Two, all rights reserved
Picture Credit : www.mindfullymusing.com
5 out of every 100 rough…
View original post 6 more words
the bee
eagerly flying
deeply desiring, flower to flower it skips
urgently buzzing, furiously humming
with perfume divine and wide open lips
the orchid accepts
the bee
The Dreaming Path 