September 6, 2014

 

That man of words;

heart ruled by head,

who she, he beckoned,

to his bed,

 

in heady times

of miss-spent youth.

In wilderness days

of outspoken truth.

 

That man of words

with needy passion,

who she dallied with

in outrageous fashion.

 

And who in urgency,

showed no shame;

a Degree had he

in the ‘mating ‘game.

 

That man of words

with spirit reeling;

strong memories still,

inhibit the healing.

 

Who in answer to

another cuckoo’s call,

once more did conquer,

though from grace did fall.

 

That man of words,

who from Byron quoted,

cast her aside

when to another, devoted.

 

But, in all honesty,

if truth be shared;

it was only ever for

himself, he cared.

 

 That man of words,

who deemed himself a bard,

with a restless nature,

and who had scant regard,

 

for the debris left

as amour turned to ashes;

and who was later exiled,

and given fifty lashes.

 

That man of words;

a ‘one off’ or not?

Only time will tell,

for that rebellious swot.

 

But wise advice,

as daylight starts to fade;

best stay indoors,

or be afraid!

 

That man of words;

back on the prowl!

A tale or two, could tell,

that ever watchful owl,

 

who quietly sits,

absorbing all;

and the first to know,

who’s out on the crawl.

 

That man of words,

heard beyond the grave,

lives on amongst us

in menace, to misbehave.

 

And as the owl hoots,

to acknowledge his arrival,

heads are shook in wonder,

at his survival.

 

That man of words

oft found lying down,

now back in force

to regain his crown,

 

and moving nearer,

with his whispered curses;

lest we should forget

the heartache, he still nurses.

 

That man of words, who

through promiscuity reigned,

(capturing imagination;

an outlet, for those pained),

 

will not lay rested

as the owl knows so well;

for he too, gets ‘day release’,

from his own personal hell.

 

That man of words

who feathered his nest;

then gave back to the world,

it all, in his final bequest,

 

will not be acknowledged,

until the seedlings grow,

and future generations,

his work, all come to know.

 

 

August 28, 2014

 

 

and worry came,

as if a shroud,

and touched the heart

of one so proud.

 

and irony came,

as if a cloak,

and laughed at life

as if a joke.

 

and power came,

as if a force,

and retribution

did endorse.

 

and silence came,

as if to say,

let all bitterness

fade away.

 

 

 

Salvage from

the situation,

tokens small and

light in weight.

 

Plant new seeds

of expectation,

til buds appear

with stems so straight

 

Begin again

with realisation,

that heavy burdens

all are spent.

 

And to conclude

the finalisation,

smile and wonder

where grief went!

 

 

 

 

 

In reverence to

the one who knew.

The pattern formed;

the hidden clue.

 

The recipe;

the witches brew.

The format worked;

conclusions drew.

 

In thankfulness

to one who flew

the nest, in search

of morning dew.

 

The knowledge gained

by one who knew,

survivors path,

where skies are blue.

 

August 11, 2014

 

How precious is

the gift of time;

to awaken and know

the day is mine,

to do with as

I choose to dare,

to explore the wonders

that life lays bare.

 

How precious is

the gift of time;

in equal measure,

both mine and thine,

to use for free

whilst it is there,

for not a second

is there to spare.

 

 

August 5, 2014

 

 

A late developer;

a timid bud,

who, from inception,

was misunderstood.

 

A silent craver;

a ‘stick in the mud’.

No joy was there

when they drew his blood.

 

A late developer;

a former runt.

But the litter’s smallest

soon would win the hunt.

 

 

June 28, 2014

 

 

 

and now, for now, all exits blocked from view:

Yet forward goes the one who dared to look,

for maybe always lying in the subconscious,

was that something else, others had mistook,

 

to mean the opposite of what was apparent;

a fool indeed who thinks his friends are foes.

The end and yet another new beginning;

foundations laid, where plainly nothing shows.

 

And all the time when searching, never ending;

when finally one settles in deep repose.

It’s then, relaxed and accepting of the future,

one sees that life, with joy,  just overflows.

 

And tomorrow’s dreams are merely crutches,

to aid the walk ahead, too steep to bear.

And that the facts already laid before them,

were obvious, to one who dared to stare.

 

 

June 8, 2014

 

 

 

 

Those feet that trod

the steepest hill,

and conquered Everest

with time to kill,

 

are those same feet

that started life,

repaired at birth

by the surgeons knife.

 

Those feet that trod

the great incline,

pushed on by strength

within a determined mind,

 

are those same feet

that beat the odds,

and won the race

and reached the gods.

 

Those feet not ever

meant to go,

crossed the line in style

for the victor’s show.

 

Proving all is possible;

hope overcoming doubt,

even if little chance given

when first stepping out.

 

 

 

 

 

June 5, 2014

 

 

Whilst dusting the corners of her mind,

amongst the debris lost with time,

she came across an abandoned wish;

a forgotten plea, based on pure anguish.

 

And how she thanked the powers that be,

who crushed that dream, never meant to be.

So ill thought out when straws were clutched,

and the edge of insanity, almost touched.

 

For in the intervening years between,

grew a life well lived, from a shattered dream,

and countless blessings and guidance shown

towards a path of happiness she now did own.

 

And the longing yearned for, it was clear to see

would have been the certain death of she.

And oh the mess, had it come of age;

that wish never granted, by a wiser sage.

 

 

April 10, 2014

 

 

In each bud a secret;

a life of hidden power.

In each second savoured;

another fulfilled hour.

 

In each wish, a yearning

for a recreated past unchanged.

In each dream, a voyage

and a mind left disarranged.

 

 

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