November 8, 2013

 

 

Oh sweet Arabella, make of me what you will.

Your opinion counts, your voice gives me a thrill.

When you turn away, I can feel the chill.

So sweet Arabella, my dearest wish please fulfil.

 

 

Take pity on this boy, for dear mercy’s sake.

Sweet Arabella, I beg you, give me a break.

I toss and turn and stay wide awake,

until dawn rises, and finds me with heartache.

 

 

Sweet Arabella, don’t put me through the mill.

I can’t give you diamonds, nor dress you to kill.

but we could live in a cottage, up on the hill.

Say you’ll pledge me your love, forever, until….

 

 

So sweet Arabella, it’s as much as I can stand.

The choice is one that only you can command.

If you are not there tomorrow, sat by the lake,

I’ll know you’ve chosen, that handsome boy Jake.

 

 

 

 

To feel, to touch,

to know for now,

that this is it, and anyhow?

 

To over-think, to analyse,

would be disastrous-

there’s no compromise.

 

 

 

 

The come-back kid

is riding high,

with arms outstretched

he’ll reach the sky.

 

Defeats behind him and

hard lessons learned,

around the corner

he has turned.

 

The come-back kid

is on his way.

He’s such a different

man today.

 

All pot holes plugged,

on the uneven street.

Success is his,

now he’s found his feet.

 

 

 

 

 

Loyaly, bloody loyalty –

that long forgotten word.

With loyalty comes self sacrifice,

which people now think is absurd.

 

No one willing to offer loyalty,

the stake is just too high.

They’d get trampled in the rush,

as the go-getters pass them by.

 

Loyalty, bloody loyalty, like trust,

has been blown away.

But there will be a price to pay,

as sadly, that’s always the way.

 

 

 

October 27, 2013

 

 

Could you bring me a feather duster Nellie,

from the hardware store today.

I’ve got cobwebs hanging from the ceiling

so long, they are starting to sway.

Oh, and if you see any rhubarb,

I can add it to some strawberries

and make a pie.

I’ve got Miriam coming for supper,

so I really feel I should try.

 

 

 

 

Although travellers find a haven

that suits them after a while,

in their head is mother country

tracking every wayward mile.

 

Then, when for family gatherings,

(be it happy times or sad)

they return once more to where,

they played as lass and lad.

 

And passing places of their childhood,

eyes catch many a tempting ‘for sale’ sign,

near to where ancestors lived,

up the rocky road incline.

 

They join friends and extended families

all getting on with their life,

and visit the chapel where Gran attended-

she was a perfect kind of wife.

 

Later, they wonder for a moment,

even hesitate and sigh,

before jumping back onto the highway

after another heartfelt goodbye.

 

Yet, though their heartstrings pull

with such magnetic force,

their heads say ‘keep on going,

and future plans endorse’.

 

They were bombarded with advice,

and certainly all of it, well meant,

but it only added to their confusion-

God bless those with good intent.

 

Many see it as unfaithfulness

to desert original roots,

but an adventurer of life,

will wear many pairs of boots.

 

Those who’d never had the wanderlust

begged of sense and asked why remain

in a place that has few ties – 

and no reason, was there to explain!

 

Others warned ‘You are well rid –

you’d be fools to come back here,

there’s so much violence now’.

As if there’s none, where they are near!

 

So to voluntary exile,

they eventually arrived back,

to a place long since adopted

where the odds just seem to stack.

 

But as the distance became greater

with every travelled mile,

a part of their heart faced homeward,

making them unsettled for a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is a forgone conclusion-

the answer is plain to see.

The branch always threatens to snap,

the higher one climbs up the tree.

 

 

 

 

Behind enthusiasm

sits practicality,

and the realisation the job

cannot be done alone.

 

Alongside endeavour

sits satisfaction,

when out of nothing,

something has grown.

 

 

 

 

 

She ached for her when she was one,

and from her side, by then, had gone.

 

She bled for her when she was two,

and prayed that she had made it through.

 

She longed for her when she was three,

and didn’t have her by her knee.

 

She thought of her when she was four,

like every year that had gone before.

 

All she could do by the time she was five,

was hope that God had kept her alive.

 

She knew that by her age of six,

no long term heartache could she fix.

 

When she was seven, she thought of her-

another year without her there.

 

And when, next summer, she was eight,

her heart with love, still carried weight.

 

She wondered then, when she was nine,

if she was happy and doing fine.

 

When she was ten, she was at a loss all day-

A decade since she went away.

 

The pattern, the same, with lamented pain,

as each year came around again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Deep excavation

is confined,

due to lack of tools

and an idle mind.

 

No explanation

of work declined,

or excuses believed

from one who is blind.

 

Deep exploration

of the mind,

is too big a price-

as truth, we might find.

 

 

 

 

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