sunshine in my heart
the storm is always blowing
this is the balance
Poetry
Night Lines
i don’t
like
the sound
i hear
in my
neck
swishing and pulsing
veins
it seems far too loud
i am sure
my heart
beat
is
speeding
each time i turn over it’s worse
this is the sleepless song of the night
at dawn
sweating
the slow
drift begins
into sleep
suspended between in a dream
wet
wet from the snow melt
out on the moors
the track
deep
in mud
the grass is a
s l i d e
we struggle
up
to
the
top
of
the
hill
the wide-open expanse of the world falls beneath
we all stand together
filling our lungs
catch
ing
our
breath
The Saddest Lines
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: ” La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos”.
El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.
Tonight I can write the saddest of lines.
But these words above never were mine.
I encountered death as an infant.
I created myself as someone I’m not.
I wasted my gifts and took the wrong turnings.
All that I loved most faded away.
Sometimes it’s hard to put food on the table.
Each day is a struggle. I think I might break.
Are these tired words sad enough for you yet?
Let’s step up the horror, in case we forget.
Seven million people died of cancer last year.
Five thousand people sleep rough every night.
One hundred elephants are slaughtered each day
They hack out their jaws to trade in the ivory.
The ocean’s polluted and forests are dying.
The politicians are lying.
No one takes action.
Everyone’s looking for things they can’t have.
Don’t speak to me of her love you once had
or play with the thought of her infinite eyes
and the way that you lost her love and ask why.
Pablo Neruda I hear you complaining.
Pablo Neruda silence your cries.
Each moment of love is a gift. Don’t expect it.
There’s perspective above,
in those trembling blue stars.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The quote in Spanish is from “Poema 20” and is part of “Veinte poemas de amor y una cancion desesperada” (twenty love poems and a desperate song) from Pablo Neruda that was published in Santiago de Chile in 1924.
Happiness in Easter Park
In the park,
by the lake,
loud geese clamor
to be fed.
Little girl
in new red shoes,
polished
to a gleaming shine,
gazes at her face reflected
in the mirror of her toes.
Sitting on a wooden bench
she swings her feet
in quiet pleasure
and spreads her fingers
wide apart.
The sticky chocolate
melted fast.
The swans
spread out
their wide,
white wings,
lifting up
in springs
rare flight.
On a branch
the blackbird sings.
Everything is full of light.
Digital Dreams
In my digital dreams
of brutalised beauty
the last look loners
never look back
nostalgia is nothing
but an onslaught of senses
enigmatic eels fill up my screen
the rosie romantics
have lost their ideals
the violets are vanquished
by unseasonable change
i quietly quit
without yielding my self
to fanciful fractals ~
isn’t life strange
Levitate
As the evening sun goes down
wild geese fly above the town,
a circling pattern in grey skies
with creaking wings and hooping cries.
As the darkening hour grows late
I feel that I could levitate
”Be careful there.
Don’t challenge fate.
Icarus made that dread mistake.
Hubris led him to a fall
and you may never rise at all.
Optimism is a clown ~
you may circle round the town
but then it all comes crashing down”
You are wrong.
As the evening hour grows late
I will rise, against my fate.
I hear a deep internal song.
The sun goes down, my spirits rise.
The sky is where I most belong
Old Timbers
away from home
i think of old timbers
weathered by time
firelight reflects
on warm weathered wood
rattling windows
shelter lovers in tangled embrace
the old shutters tap
and swing back in the wind
in the blast of a storm outside
the weathercock spins
and turns twice about unhinged
this contrast of images
inside and out
where light does battle with dark
seems to sum up the world
where we cannot hide
and time is unfurled
but our hearts are well understood
It’s that time again! Poetry Month
Answered
quite long but don’t be daunted
What happens to someone like her as she gets older?
–from Luck, by Joan Barfoot
Answered
She loses her balance, starts to fall.
Once in the kitchen, three times in the hall.
Finds it harder to remember, spends more time alone.
Speaks her mind more freely, less likely to atone.
She starts attracting cats that come inside and do not leave.
Wears frays in her clothing–hemline, neckline, sleeve.
Starts forgetting passwords–sometimes the names of friends.
Her search for keys and glasses never really ends.
Starts waking in the nighttime to contemplate her death.
At midnight, has to go outside to try to catch her breath.
Counts the years before her instead of those behind.
She could live to one hundred if fate is being kind.
Will she live her last years with sister, lover, friend;
or will animal companions help her meet her end?
Will anybody mourn her?…
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Faded Charts
Perhaps it isn’t wise to love a sailor.
Good things sweep away in summer storms
but the tides are unpredictable
and times have changing patterns
when the breezes shift.
I left my compass in the cupboard
wrapped in faded charts
and i couldn’t see the stars.
I should have thought before I lifted anchor.
I should have thought before we left the land.
I can only tell you that I’m sorry
that I had to loose your hand.
The Dreaming Path 