February 16, 2014

 

 

What hope of justice?

when a silent tongue

keeps buried the past;

the pain to prolong.

 

Then to speak the truth

and not be believed;

the injured party

once more aggrieved.

 

Too late, some say.

Others say, never too late.

The debate goes on

to decide their fate.

 

 

 

 

I see his point.

I hear his plea.

Too late, alas

for me to move the sea.

 

I know it was right

what he instilled in me.

Sometimes the mighty truth

takes a lifetime to see.

 

 

 

 

 

Why is a lie-detector

on a television show

acceptable evidence

and a convincing blow?

 

Yet it isn’t recognised

within a court of law,

where wrong decisions

can at reputations, claw.

 

 

 

February 13, 2014

 

 

And on the way

to Jericho

a sharp pain struck;

a hammer blow.

 

A memory, long

since forgotten;

blocked out with time,

that life begotten.

 

A revisited path,

that many trod,

on their way to deliver

a gift from God.

 

And on that ground

so regulated;

so steeped in love;

so consecrated.

 

Where life and death

hung in despair;

another safe arrival

by gas and air.

 

In equal measure,

a double edged sword,

for in no time at all;

a ‘for sale’ board.

 

And on the way back

from Jericho,

only depths of sorrow

was there to know.

 

 

 

 

 

And in that moment

when sense goes on the blink,

and you buy red roses

when you know she loves pink!

 

And a bottle of bubbly,

thinking glasses will clink.

Until you remember

she no longer, takes a drink.

 

And the trouble you now face

for getting caught up in the hype,

makes you think, ‘never again,

it’s all just a load of tripe’.

 

 

 

 

February 9, 2014

 

 

Sturdy winter pansies,

smiling through the snow.

Surviving February’s treachery,

their faces all aglow.

 

 

 

 

 

‘Let’s throw the pots out of the window’

was the favourite, familiar refrain,

of my future Mother in law,

when last at the table, we did remain.

 

How I loved those Sunday dinners

with her roast beef and apple pie.

She’d shout of hubby to carve the meat;

he would smile with a twinkle in his eye.

 

The aroma as he entered her kitchen,

drifted into the dining room nearby.

where I’d obligingly laid the table,

which she’d checked with an exacting eye.

 

We shared the job of carrying the tureens,

containing the vegetables, steaming hot,

and then the piece d’ resistance arrived,

and into our seats we immediately shot.

 

We tucked in, enjoying each mouthful,

and became so full, we did gasp and sigh.

After which, she’d give me the choice,

of whether I wanted to wash or dry!

 

We would set the world to rights;

she made washing dishes fun.

And made me feel I was the one,

that she wanted for her son.

 

My next job was to return the silverware,

to the correct boxes in the welsh dresser,

as she summoned her son to pour the brandy,

whilst she made the coffee, bless her.

 

There was no sign of a dishwasher.

I know she would think it a scream

to watch this generation rinse plates,

and then stack them into a machine!

 

and that a job we privately savoured,

that took five minutes, at the most,

had now fallen to new technology;

making the days of washing up – toast.

 

 

 

 

To give of love

and nothing more

is sometimes

not enough.

 

To do what one

is asked to do

can sometimes

be a double bluff.

 

To give of time

and feel a bore

is sometimes

really rough.

 

To do what just

comes naturally

proves you are made

of stronger stuff.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thank God we are air signs

and of the same mind,

and able to fly over obstacles

and happiness find.

 

Thank God we have freedom

and bags packed to go,

but to what destination,

we never do know!

 

 

 

Take one gram of imagination,

and two grams of inspiration,

then mix together rampantly

with a few drops of perspiration.

 

Now set aside for an hours duration,

using the time for deserved relaxation,

whilst counting your many blessings,

to spread on top, as divine decoration.

 

 

 

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