31 Oct 2016

Broken

Some things are just too much to bear
or think about on this sad day
To hear again those words unfair
Some things are just too much to bear
To know you felt the need to say
Such cruel words in the harshest way
Some things are just too much to bear
or think about on this sad day




Golden


wed as teenagers in spring,
some good times and some bad, but
loved for fifty years 



24th March 1962 - 2012.

30 Oct 2016

Busy World

As rain and tears fall where they may
A busy world ignores the cry
And children suffer where they lie
As rain and tears fall where they may
It is so tragic people say
Then shield their eyes and turn away
As rain and tears fall where they may
A busy world ignores the cry







29 Oct 2016

Painter as Poet (a poem in villanelle form)


I feel as if a thousand poems are waiting to be said
Why have I waited all these years to try my hand at rhyme?
Using sentences as colours for the words inside my head  

Teasing syllables and sounds out from all the things I've read
To paint the kind of image that depicts things from my time
I feel as if a thousand poems are waiting to be said     

Of happy thoughts, or sad ones where my soul was filled with dread,
Selecting adjectives and mixing, with no canvases to prime,  
Using sentences as colours for the words inside my head  

To create a kind of tapestry with words instead of thread
Coloured crimson, pink and purple, cerulean blue and lime
I feel as if a thousand poems are waiting to be said     

Shall I start just anywhere? Things living or things dead?
Original or act a part? To mimic or to mime?
Using sentences as colours for the words inside my head   

A poet uses language for rich tints and hues instead 
- no need for paint where words are art, to forget this is a crime 
I feel as if a thousand poems are waiting to be said     
Using sentences as colours for the words inside my head  




POETS NOTE: The villanelle is a poetic form consisting of five stanzas of three lines each (tercets) followed by a single stanza of four lines (a quatrain) for a total of nineteen lines which follow a strict pattern of rhyme and refrain. The first line of the first stanza serves as the last line of the second and fourth stanzas, and the third line of the sixth stanza. The third line of the first stanza serves as the last line of the third, fifth and sixth stanzas. It is an example of fixed-verse form



28 Oct 2016

Grandad


My grandad was a lovely man
and I will tell you all I can
He wore a watch upon his vest
I'd hear it ticking on his chest
He'd mend my dolls if they got sick
and help me build things brick by brick
and hide my pudding as a trick

He wasn't tall but he was stout
It's true I never heard him shout
but he loved to sing a silly song
and teach me how to sing along
and show me how to plait some string
or find a pond with tadpoles in
or push me higher on a swing

I did not like his moustache bristles
which pricked and felt to me like thistles
'Give gramps a little kiss he'd say'
But I would turn my head away
It must have made his poor heart sore
but I was only three or four
He died before I grew much more

Oh Grandad, what I'd give today
to hug and kiss you come what may



27 Oct 2016

Old love


Yesterday I met someone
Reminded me of you
I saw your face, I heard your voice
Not knowing what to do
I smiled and laughed
Pretending joy
And wondered is it true

Memories came flooding back
Of romance young and new 
Back then I was a fool at love
Believing you'd be true
So there I was
Dilemma bound
Not knowing what to do

It seemed that you remembered me
We spoke and time just flew
But then I saw that interest
Came from me not you
Your eyes were cold
And so I turned
And waved old love adieu






26 Oct 2016

The Way Things Are


There comes a time
This much I know
When a mind feels like resting
And I ain't suggesting
That this is wrong
- just my way of protesting
The way things are

Things don't last long
This much I know
And my mind keeps on saying
Stop your crying and praying
Don't make no sound
- just my way of delaying
The way things are

There is a way
This much I know
Be it standing and staring
Be it doing and daring
You'll take my hand
- you'll be smiling and sharing
The way things are






Letting Go


This cold, cold earth
Last resting place
I heard your voice
You kissed my face
Then all was gone
Without a trace
In cold, cold earth

This hard, hard ground
No need for sight
For those who lie
In this dark night
Not to see again
The sun, the light
In hard, hard ground

Yet comes this sound
There is a sigh
Like wind through trees
Or the faintest cry
Of a flock of birds
In a cloudless sky
Yet comes this sound

Away I fly



A new reality


Where is she,

the me I used to be?

Fading, shredding, wafting free

in ragged pieces, desperately

spinning, shrinking, hard to see.

Pretending, as things become less clear,

that nothing's wrong, 

I am still here.






For Olly and Pru ... gone but not forgotten