Dog watch
The night is cold and clear and still.
The village streets lie quietly.
A bitter wind adds to the chill.
At home is where I’d rather be.
I have no choice I have to go.
My dog insists I take him out.
He knows he is entitled to
his final evening run about.
Then he will settle for the night.
It matter not rain, hail or snow.
He is correct he has the right
to tell me that its time to go.
He knows the time I must suppose.
What puzzles me is how he knows.
Wednesday,23 December 2009.
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Hooked.
I’m sure, deprived of poetry
descent into insanity
would follow.Inevitably
It is my prime necessity
Poetry is my drug of choice.
Without it I would have no voice
either to lament or rejoice.
For I depend on poetry
to validate that I am me.
I am addicted hopelessly.
Wednesday,23 December 2009
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Attitudes.
The moon sheds soft and silver light
upon the newly fallen snow
A master piece for our delight.
The city folk will never know.
The snow that falls on city streets.
Is all too soon polluted by
the footprints left by passing feet.
In cities different rules apply.
Country folk accept the snow
They know there’s little they can do
but wait. In time the snow must go.
Something to look forward to.
But city folk impatiently
Demand the streets should be snow free.
Wednesday,06 January 2010
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Moonlight Mysteries. for M'lady Tara
Moonlight.
Deceives our eyes
creates moving shadows
which seem to come and go at will.
Be still.
Time ebbs and flows,
in time the sun will rise
To banish shadows of the night.
By night
Our eyes tell lies
because the shadows flow
fluidly. They are never still.
Some will
spring a surprise.
As dawn is drawing close
they disappear and all is still.
Until
the next moonrise.
Recreating the shadows
Cast by the ruler of the night.
Tuesday,15 December 2009
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Dismal outlook.
Dismal outlook.
The sky today is dark and grey
With storm clouds slowly gathering
I think more rain is on the way.
The outlook is not promising.
Perhaps the rain will fall as snow
May be the clouds will move away
We can but hope that they will go
A typical December day.
White Christmases appeal to some.
They did to me long years ago.
The first snow fall was most welcome.
But now I pray for it to go.
I don’t admit to being old
Though I confess I hate the cold.
Saturday,03 December 2011
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Their evensong; my pleasure for friend Thad
I sit outside the monastery
and pass an hour pleasantly
Listening to the brothers chant
I find their plain song elegant.
I wonder why, it puzzles me
Why do some men voluntarily
decide upon monastic life.
Are they afraid of worldly strife.
It seems to me that they retreat
from normal life; admit defeat.
I’m sure they see it differently
To me it is a mystery.
What can they possibly achieve.
This question really baffles me.
I must suppose that they believe.
It’s pleasing to their deity.
But I am not a Christian
I have my own philosophy.
More suited to a simple man.
Which is all I claim to be.
They have a choice they can decide
to worship God in their own way.
I am content to sit outside
I do not have the right to say.
What they should do or should not do.
My own motto is tolerance
that’s why I come to listen to
the plain song. which my ears entrance.
When night falls and all is still.
The final notes have died away.
I exercise my own free will
and rise to make my homeward way.
My God does not expect me to
stick to a rigid discipline.
The way the brothers have to do.
To pray or not the choice is mine.
14/07/2009
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Thinking Deeply.
I find these days quite frequently.
I slip into a semi trance.
When meditating quietly
on fate and changing circumstance.
I close my eyes to contemplate
Which seems quite sensible to me.
It leaves me free to concentrate
On what I think not what I see.
Of course my wife accuse me
of napping when I’m in a trance
But she does enjoy teasing me.
A little when she gets the chance.
I can’t deny it’s possible
I dropp off when I’m comfortable.
But I do not believe I do.
Although my wife insists it’s true.
Wednesday,03 November 2010
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September afternoon for M lady Ernestine.
September sun spasmodically
breaks through the clouds which threaten rain.
Sometimes the clouds triumphantly
block out the sunshine once again.
I watch and wait expectantly
to see the sun come smiling through
A little optimistically
I hope to see the sky turn blue.
The storm clouds try but can’t resist
a brisk wind blowing from the sea
They have no choice the wind persists
Although they move reluctantly.
The clouds are gone the sun shines on
and will do ‘til the day is done.
Wednesday,08 September 2010
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Time to be,
Steal away quietly meditate
You can spare time enough. For a while
silently hide away. Contemplate
who you are, what you are thoroughly.
You may find peace of mind, leave behind
the pressures and distress easily.
All you need to succeed is concede.
You can fly if you try earnestly.
You will see, you can be really free.
12/07/2009
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Pulling myself together for M'lady Ann Beard
In dreams I can communicate
with disparate parts of me.
I’m learning to appreciate.
The frightening complexity
Of the different parts of me.
Which I must balance constantly
A task I must face every day
so they combine to make me, me..
I am a father and a son.
I am a brother and a friend.
The endless list goes on and on.
It seems as though it has no end.
Somehow I manage to control
at least the parts on public view.
The scattered parts which make the whole
But still conceal a thing or two.
The parts of me I need to change.
I’m sure I can do given time.
Some parts of me are weird and strange.
Like creatures from an earlier time.
The Id tries to assert its will.
The ego sure to disagree.
The super ego bids them both be still.
I just accept they’re part of me.
When other people look at me.
I wonder if they wonder too
If they can see reality.
I am not certain that I do.
Wednesday,02 December 2009
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Stupidity.
Stupidity.
We celebrate our dead heroes.
Their white headstones arranged in rows.
To mark where soldiers bodies lie.
They are no longer friends and foes
War cemeteries are tended well
in honour of the men who fell
It is the least that we can do
for men who died by shot and shell.
Each single death a tragedy,
each one recorded carefully.
To satisfy the bureaucrats
who collate deaths statistically.
I wonder why we cannot see.
That death alone claims victory.
Each new war adds to the score
of people dying uselessly.
Though we remember them with pride.
The countless men who sadly died.
Each thinking that their cause was just.
Involuntary suicide.
We celebrate our dead heroes
with white headstones arranged in rows.
Yet we still send young men to die
And always will do I suppose.
We do not learn from history
For no good reason I can see.
That wars prove nothing in the end
Except how stupid we can be.
Wednesday,30 December 2009
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Merciful Release?
Merciful Release.
The mist descended suddenly.
Totally unexpectedly.
I could not see to find my way
So I decided I should stay
Just where I was. It seemed to be.
The wisest choice
I’m not so certain that it was
I think perhaps that is because.
The clammy fog embraces me
And whispers to me quietly
You have no choice.
If I decide to let you go
I am quite certain you will know.
Not to brave the moors alone
These moors are mine all that I own
and I rejoice.
I have the power to heal or kill
I always had and always will.
These moors are worthy of respect
It is mission to protect.
It whispered sotto voice.
I will remember till I die.
There is no reason I should lie
The day the mist enveloped me
and whispered to me quietly
I hear that voice.
In nightmares to this very day.
Although it let me go my way.
I still retain the memory
Of the lesson taught to me.
The moors own voice.
Although it spoke so quietly
Is etched deep in my memory
I can’t forget although I try
And to this day I wonder why.
It made the choice
To set me free as suddenly
as the mist had captured me.
I don’t suppose I’ll ever know
Why it chose to let me go
I had no choice.
The moors have little time for fools
They can and will enforce their rules
I'm forced to take it seriously
Or pay the price
Tuesday,15 November 2011
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Time to go for M 'lady ERnestine
The winters sun whilst sinking low.
Cast strange blue shadows on the snow
when filtered through the leafless trees.
Like symptoms of some strange disease.
Which marred and blotched the virgin white
as with a growing appetite.
The shadows merged and grew into
vast areas of darker blue.
The day was drawing to its close
and night was falling. I suppose
the shadows and the night will blend
and this will signify the end
of yet another winters day.
It’s time to take my homeward way.
9-Dec-08
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Water Music for M lady Chitra
I hear the music of the waterfall.
I am held fast entranced against my will.
It’s ceaseless flowing fluid melody
more potent than the fabled sirens call.
I cannot think nor can I move at all.
Completely absorbed by the symphony
it is as if that time is standing still.
Nothing seems to matter, nothing at all.
I am enraptured by the waterfall
Quite unaware that I’ve duties to fulfil
I think it may be true quite possibly
I’m not averse to being held in thrall.
There is no where I’d rather be
than where I am just listening quietly.
24/06/2009
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Help Wanted
I am compelled, perhaps obsessed.
Would be a better choice of word.
My muse allows me little rest.
She is convinced that she know best
No matter how much I protest
She insists she has the right
To make me write by day and night.
I sometimes feel I am possessed
Although the idea seems absurd.
My judgement marred by lack of rest
I find reality is blurred.
I’m sure my muse abuses me
I’m tired of her tyranny.
I really think that it would be
Better if she left. Undeterred
She still insists that she knows best.
And acts as if she hasn’t heard.
That poets can dismiss their muse
When they are guilty of abuse.
I’m sick of being under stress
Although I would have much
preferred not to cause my muse distress
She pretended she misheard.
When I told her we were through
It was the only thing to do.
I did not like her attitude.
But now I am without a muse.
Although I have some aptitude
I must arrange some interviews
I will be careful when I choose
Some muse to fill the vacancy.
A muse that will not bully me.
Monday,17 October 2011
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Unexpected visitor
From my back window I espy
a stray soap bubble passing by.
From whence it came I do not know
but carried by the winds that blow.
I saw it dancing in the air
a sight which was beyond compare.
I only wish I was as free
as the soap bubble I can see.
The bubble goes where the wind blows
until it bursts I must suppose.
It had no choice when it was blown
but venture into the unknown.
I watched.it ‘til it disappeared
carried by a wind that veered
and took it high into the sky.
It had no time to say goodbye
but I was glad to see it go.
So when it burst I would not know.
31-Jul-08
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Shadow Dancers for M 'lady Amy
The shadow which throughout the day
have hidden quietly away.
In nooks and crannies which they know
Day is their time for lying low.
When darkness falls come out to play.
Although the sunlight rules the day.
The silver moon’s in charge by night
and she has granted them the right.
To freely frolic through the night
they do not fear her gentle light.
Though when the sunrise lights the skies.
They hide again if they are wise.
Perhaps the sleep all through the day
I do not know I cannot say.
I only know it’s my delight
to see the shadows dance at night.
They can appear and disappear
but they are far too fast I fear.
For human eyes to clearly see
the shadows dancing gracefully.
Our eyes accustomed to the light
don’t work efficiently at night.
Though sometimes watching quietly
You see them dancing silently.
17-Jan-09
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The first Snow for M 'lady Tara
Now almost imperceptibly the snow is falling steadily.
Unruffled by the slightest breeze to coat the branches of the trees
with layers of the purest white which sparkle in the pale moonlight.
A sight that’s pleasing to my eyes. Beneath the trees a blanket lies
as yet a flimsy covering but it is slowly thickening.
As falling snow relentlessly, continues drifting quietly.
The world reverts to black and white. It is a bitter winter’s night
I sit and watch from my window backlit by the firelights glow.
I’m thankful that I need not go outdoors amidst the falling snow.
I am content to stay inside I much prefer my fireside.
Although it’s beautiful to see the snow descending steadily.
I am too old to brave the cold I leave that to the young and bold.
Tomorrow with the morning sun the children will be having fun.
With cries of glee they’ll greet the snow and I will watch from my window.
The antics of small girls and boys as they engage in childish ploys.
Just as I did so long ago when I could enjoy the snow.
One benefit of being old I stay inside when it is cold.
My aching bones will not permit me to do much more than sit
and watch the children as they play and remember my young days.
18/08/2009
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Incapability
The sunset’s indescribable
but being me I have to try
to see if I am capable.
Although I see no reason why.
I think this time I might succeed.
I’ve tried so many times before
to explain how the colours bleed
into shades I have no name for.
I would love to share my view
but lack the vocabulary.
I cannot describe to you
the transient beauty that I see.
No matter how hard I may try
it’s an impossibility.
18/05/2009
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For this relief much thanks for M lady Ann
Just a few dwindling pools remain
in what was once the river bed.
Three years and more without rain.
Most of my livestock long since dead.
Yet still I have to struggle on
I have no choice no place to go
All of my men have packed and gone,
To where the deeper rivers flow.
Each evening I pray for rain
I won’t surrender to despair.
I’m not too old to start again.
No man can win who does not dare.
The storm clouds gather overhead.
Perhaps in answer to my prayer.
This time release much needed rain.
There’s water, water everywhere.
The river fills and overflows.
The arid earth drinks greedily.
The drought is over: Heaven knows
I’ve had my share of misery.
I face the future confident
That I can do what must be done
Determination and intent
are all I have I will go on.
I will build up my stock and then
I will employ some jackaroos.
To help me run the place again
much needed help that I can use.
But for the present work alone.
My nearest neighbour’s miles away
There is so much that must be done.
Enough to fill each working day.
When evening comes I will give thanks.
Unto my maker gratefully.
The river flows between its banks.
And all is as it ought to be.
09/07/2009
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Temporary Purity
The once white snow is dirty grey.
Churned into slush by passing feet,
pedestrians pass to and fro.
Along this busy shopping street
At 5am it had been white.
Before the world was wide awake
Fresh snow had fallen through the night
like frosting on a birthday cake.
I could not sleep and watched it fall.
My windows overlook the street
Well before anyone at all
had left the marks of booted feet
But life goes on despite the snow,
as all the blurry footprints show.
Monday,09 November 2009
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