March 28, 2014

 

 

How must it feel

to know that kin

is the instigator

and enemy within.

 

What an invidious

position to now be in,

though technically

there has been no sin.

 

 

 

 

The rippling shoreline

on an abandoned beach

as night time falls;

the sun out of reach.

 

A severed tongue

no words could teach.

The shock too great

for an acceptance speech.

 

The sea comes in and bashes

the crumbling seawall,

with its violent temper

in a free for all.

 

And words, too late

came as if they cared,

but above seagull squawks

could not be heard.

 

And another day

that with promise held

came and went without

a timid voice yelled.

 

But what they say

of time and tide is true,

and there’s a new horizon

always on view.

 

 

 

March 15, 2014

 

 

The rust has set in

around ancient nails,

exposed to the elements,

holding fast, twisted rails.

 

and rotting gates, at the

entrance to sacred land,

where fading words

on tombstones stand.

 

A once beloved wife

lies unattended

on top of her man;

both long since ascended.

 

The headstone crooked;

their plot now overgrown.

No ancestor’s names visible

or sign of existence shown.

 

And dogs, no sense

of reverence share,

just run amok

and are unaware,

 

that on the land

where they prance and frolic,

are many generations

where respect is symbolic.

 

Some kin will not visit;

they shudder and swear,

preferring to remember

loved ones as they were.

 

And so different are those

who cannot stay away.

They come with weeping hearts

each and every day.

 

On a new plot lies

a multitude of flowers,

with messages of condolence

in the deceased’s final hours.

 

Yet, when grieving mourners

from the graveside leave,

a scoundrel in the shadows

is waiting to deceive.

 

He gathers up the best blooms

to take to his mother,

as a peace offering

for some guilt trip or another.

 

So still, now the graveyard

under a darkened cloud.

The final resting place

for it’s towns folk, proud.

 

 

 

 

 

 

March 10, 2014

 

 

Tweak my buttons

and make me gooey.

Blow my mind

and send me dewey.

 

 

 

 

Let us discuss finality

before we fall into deep slumber.

And maybe count our blessings

in case, up pops our final number.

 

What if, without a last farewell

one of us leaves this earth,

with no plans or preparations,

in readiness for a re-birth?

 

Let us discuss in finite detail,

whilst our senses are still hot,

in case, when that time comes

we both have lost the plot!

 

Let us face the inevitable,

or at least momentarily peep,

into a future where, by a bedside,

one for the other, a vigil may keep.

 

Now let us spend time in harmony

keeping open, perhaps just one eye.

For when we cease to be together,

there will be, no longer, you or I.

 

   

 

 

 

 

Such joy, when in the company of those

whose words calm a troubled breast,

and put right the world of anguish,

and all burdens lay to rest.

 

Such joy when back in the homeland

on ground so sacred in the west.

Where familiar smiling faces

bring out in the soul, the very best.

 

Such joy that is ever ongoing

and never fails to pass the test.

Where roots are steeped in history,

and comfort found in a feathered nest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It has previous life.

It’s memories linger.

We are merely custodians

with a different finger.

 

We modernise.

We update its look

with our own stamp,

but it can’t be mistook.

 

It still has heart

and ghosts of frost,

who come to visit;

their souls still lost.

 

They aggravate.

They come at will

around seven o clock;

they can’t keep still.

 

They let us know

we’re in their place,

moving as they did

in this hallowed space.

 

But on command,

silent they be.

I calm them down,

they don’t worry me.

 

No-one believes

that we have spirits.

Some think us mad

when we speak of visits.

 

But it’s their history

we must respect,

though all that it is,

is just circumspect.

 

 

 

 

 

A love so strong and powerful,

ingrained in every bone.

Ongoing strands of connection

so delicately hand sewn.

 

A moment so truly wonderful;

a feeling of never being alone.

When out of the blue comes one

deliciously setting the tone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mother always urging, and saying ‘Do it child’

Father so discouraging and saying ‘Don’t be wild’.

 

Mother saying ‘Go for it, and keep forward moving’.

Father shaking his head and always disapproving!

 

Mother’s nature copied, landed the child in a stew.

Father’s balanced scales, forced to go askew!

 

Mother right for Father; making him test the water.

Father right for Mother, but off ran only daughter!

 

Mother bereft trailed on, with more advice to give

Father tore his hair out; no longer wanting to live.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Your tears will fill a thousand oceans, if not dried.

For each sad day, a new tomorrow, have you cried!

 

You weep not for yourself, but for those who fear,

and whilst in your healing world, share every tear.

 

Your heart so broken with all that life has cost.

Still in readiness you wait, to help all souls so lost.

 

Soon, a thousand oceans, with tears will overspill,

by a heavy burden, gathered from the world at will.

 

 

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