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

 

 

He was intent

my thought process

to invade;

to cut short the muse

within my mind.

 

But I content,

no acknowledgment

made,

and did flatly refuse,

without being unkind.

 

But still intent,

persistence he

did keep;

his fingers waving

as if at will.

 

So I did invent

a most dishonest

sleep,

until his fingers dropped,

and lay quite still.

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

Oh moonsong

lamenting at my window;

what wants you now of me?

 

Oh moonsong

chanting by my window;

in peace leave me to be.

 

Oh moonsong

fading from my window,

behind the citrus tree.

 

Oh moonsong

return again next morrow,

so alive, I know, I be.

 

 

 

 

 

…and like potatoes

that are boiled,

but not enough;

the meal now spoiled.

 

A few more minutes

on the job,

won’t hurt the palate

or the hob.

 

 

 

 

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!

 

 

 

 

 

When always on the

back foot relying;

a retreat in place;

a safety net.

 

When always ready;

a dash implying.

A repeat of pace,

where freedom met.

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

Oh, today was as good

as any day I recall.

I watched a caterpillar

moving, at a steady crawl.

 

I heard the bees humming,

busy at their work.

Not away from duty

did one of them shirk.

 

Oh, today was as good

as any day gone by.

I walked indoors

to the aroma, of apple pie.

 

I saw a table laid out,

with just two place settings,

and a candlelight glow,

against the window nettings.

 

Oh, today was as good

as any day I remember;

with autumn so close,

we are nearing September.

 

So quiet the streets,

free from the day trippers.

And the dog saying ‘not yet’,

as I moved towards my slippers!

 

 

August 18, 2014

 

 

Never known such yearning:

Never known such force:

The only chance to see you,

completely blown off course.

 

Never known such anguish:

Never known such fear:

The time was dead against us,

though we felt your presence near.

 

Never known such feeling:

Never known such power:

We did our best to reach you,

but missed you by an hour.

 

Never known such sadness:

Never known such woe:

Our paths, they failed to meet,

but still, we love you so.

 

Never known such adrenalin:

Never known such urge:

The odds were stacked against us,

but by god, we felt the surge.

 

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