Along the sea margin
in the lapping of tides
I had visions of legs wrapped around necks,
thighs pressed taut against shoulders.
I heard the soft fall and lift of wet sand
as it sucked and released your bare feet.
You walked ahead, leaving imprints
amongst white pebbles and shells
We all know the profound aspects
of waves as they come and go
and I don’t need to use a poetic device
about footprints that wash away.
In that moment I knew I loved you
in a way I wouldn’t again
The children are playing in the street.
I hear their joyful screams,
dancing rings in summer heat,
cowboys of the back streets,
soldiers forming battle teams,
highwaymen who rob the sun
of all its golden light
Batman twirls his cape,
inventing secret monsters
hidden in the night.
They summon Superman
in mock terror as they run
to the freedom of escape
As the evening shadows lengthen,
falling into softer dreams,
they gather in a circle
with sparkling eyes
heads bent close together
arms and legs a tangle
they tell fantastic stories
from their rich imaginations
suited to their size
All those tales are distant now.
The world became less wise.
The streets are full of cars.
The childrens’ voices all are gone,
silenced by closed doors,
as monsters step onto the screens
displaying ugly scars
on the evening new.
The children play in cyberspace
eating substitutes for food
in a world full of shadows
where no one has a face.
Lock your children up
the bogeyman’s about
the taxi drivers leaned lazily on their cars
where they waited by the rank across the road
suppressed by summer heat
in the avenue of trees, full of cackling rooks
who spoke in secret code
i was working near a window
in the heart of town, looking down
on passing cars and buses
slow moving wheels,
in the bustling, heat baked, town
i was dreaming i suppose, after lunch,
when i saw them, slowly crossing, arm in arm
an old couple, threatened by the cars
it made me tense to watch
in case they came to harm
they looked like tired lovers
grey haired and bent with time
it was a sudden shock to me
to see them from this distance
knowing they were mine
no longer young, now fragile,
clinging fast together,
on quiet cautious feet,
my fathers so protective arm
made their tenderness complete
when did this happen?
when did they become so old?
it was only yesterday,
rashly dodging traffic,
impetuous and bold,
my father was always
rushing on ahead
with a sudden jolt i realised
as tears welled in my eyes
it wont be long now
before they both are dead
sitting in a room
the room becomes a wood
a wood i know so well
a vague story in my mind
the vision of a path
music and hushed sounds
i light the fire
invite them
i will sit and wait
until they gather round
whispering their tales
taking me to places
i never planned to go
falling from a mountain spring
pouring down the waterfalls
rushing over rock
drumming through the hollows
babbling to the sheep
flowing through the valley
reflecting summer skies
chasing the kingfisher
toward the evening light
hiding here and there
vanished underground
passing through the city
collecting plastic bags
running in the dark
racing through the sluice gates
seeping through the cracks
leaping down the weir
escaping through the park
loitering with ducks
lapped against the bridges
dipped with fishing rods
passing through the village
dithering with frogs
winding through the meadows
dallying with swans
gliding under willows
seeking quiet shade
stroking the salmon
lazed in sunlit pools
growing ever wider
entering the estuary
taken by the tide
i see the river rise
rise and rise again
sustaining every life
lifted by the sun
it reaches to the sky
flies above the mountains
flooding back in rain
pouring down the waterfalls
rushing over rock
a broad green sweep of valley
dark woodlands gathered there
by the rivers curve
nestled far below
above the hills a kestrel calls
sound stretched across still air
the blue grey hills melt away
in a distant milky mist
high above the world i sit
in a place away from care
surrounded by a birch wood
close by a hidden pool
this sun warmed granite ledge
above a grassy stair
lodges like an eagle’s nest
amongst the ancient trees
the oak trees lean together
to form a secret gate
where the hawthorns grow
beside the lofty fir
I lean against the apple tree
and watch the day grow late
no sound but birds and waterfall,
the sighing of the trees
the sun dips down behind the hills
i sit in peace and wait
to see the diamond stars come out
across the web of night
The museum is full of wonders
Egyptian grandeur, ancient glories,
glittering gold and precious gems,
classical Grecian curves and lines,
ever thoughtful, express the divine
illusive time, slowly passing.
Medieval kings, Viking shields and iron swords
delicate work of Saxon silver,
celebrating natures grace,
reflection of a faerie glen
My eyes become so tired of looking.
My feet ache from hard stone floors.
Passing through the Celtic collection
a tiny treasure catches me,
grips me, shackles fast my steps.
I long to hold it,
feeling it belongs to me,
smoothed in the hollow of my hand,
so small, so pure, so simple,
so emotional and loving,
grey stone,
no more than a pebble,
two lovers intertwined,
eternal, sweet embrace.
The museum is full of wonders
Egypts’ grandeur, ancient glories,
glittering gold and precious gems,
classical Greek curves and lines,
expressing divinity,
intricate windings of Saxon silver
with the feel of a faerie glen
My eyes become tired of looking.
My feet start to ache from the floors
by the time I pass through the Celtic collection
where a tiny treasure catches me,
grips me, shackles my steps.
Entranced and longing to hold it
smoothed in the palm of my hand,
so small, so simple, so pure,
so emotional and loving,
grey stone, the size of a pebble,
two lovers intertwined,
in eternal, lasting embrace.
Love this poem – good blog I will be following with pleasure
I have a ballon
Red, naturally
That follows
Wherever I go
I took to calling
It Lucy, and
Let it come into
My home
Now, I’m afraid
I’ve made the most
Grave mistake
Of my whole life
For Lucy won’t leave
She’s always hovering,
Right between me
And my wife
We tried having
A romantic dinner,
Just the two
Of us there
But Lucy
Just wasn’t having it,
So she rubbed me
And clung to my hair
Now, try to imagine
My wife’s distress
It left her
Paleand reeling
When Lucy
Came into the bedroom
That night and stuck
Herself onto the ceiling
“That’s it,”
My wife said,
“I’ve had enough!
This balloon has to go.”
She ran and found
A safety pin
But Lucy
Started to grow
She grew and grew
Until she filled
The room
And I couldn’t breathe
When my wife came back
And pricked her side,
View original post 72 more words
I saw the word
Sister,
full of light,
inscribed on an empty white page,
roundly formed and concise.
Such a lovely word.
It illuminated my night.
If I had a sister what would she say?
I would ask her to come beside me and stay.
I would see the world through her different eyes
and I’d hope that her words would be wise.
I would listen to her advice.
The world is full of ‘Sisters’
That’s what I hear them saying
“Sisters doing it for themselves”
Sisters, Goddesses, Earth Mothers
That’s what I heard them say.
They are better than you or I, little brother.
Little brother, we’re lost.
Yet I can’t help noticing something else.
I see them betray each other,
telling each other lies,
as they warmly embrace and smile.
I see their ambitions writ large
as they stab each others backs
and argue the details of facts,
dividing in feminist factions.
This is sure to be controversial,
But I’d hoped they’d be better than that.
If I had a sister I’d ask her to visit.
I’d hope she was kind,
I’d hope she was honest,
I’d hope she knew how to keep her own promise.
I’d hope she knew the right way, to be strong,
nor precisely the same perhaps,
but the same general direction
as you and I, my brother.
“The sisters of virtue they are not departed or gone.”
Those are some words from an old song.
Perhaps they will cease to subvert each other
the day we all stand up together,
the day we are all clear and strong,
clear, strong and united
with one word writ large on that page
People
against oppression.
People
who love one another.
The Dreaming Path 