Time Has Been Called

selective focus photography of red rose

Photo by Kristina Paukshtite on Pexels.com

Oh, yes I’ve seen
Those fields of green, 
And I have kissed down Lovers’ Lane. 
And to my cost
I’ve loved and lost;
On oceans tossed I’ve  bled in pain. 

My heart’s been wrenched, 
My spirit quenched, 
As I have striven a soul to win. 
But to what end
Did I offend, 
What cause had I to sin? 

And now at last
All chance has passed;
No future can I see. 
For time is up, 
Life’s bitter cup
Has passed from you to me.

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Summer Rain

shallow focus photography of green plants

Photo by Matthias Cooper on Pexels.com

Summer is not rain
Nor is rain summer
But each needs the other
Cannot be without both being

Just as winter
requires the sun to shine
and display its splendour
to reflect its ice particles
into the crystal diamonds
of exuberant life
So the rain
complements the summer sun
dampening its ardour
allowing it to refresh and renew

Both asserting 
the exuberance
of a Natural heritage
wherein all
is related to all
and all is as it should be

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© WHB:  Previously submitted in response to the prompt’Summer Rain on ‘Go Dog Go Cafe’.

The Back Door

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Gallery Back Door – Photo: WHB 2019 ©

Disused since Golgotha
Defaced by ignorance
Scorned by the whole-some
Earning only derisive mirth
Unwelcome and Unwelcoming
This un-entrancing entrance
Inaccessible access
Faded to a depressing
Off-putting welcome
As resonant of hope as
Hades’ Tunnel of Love

Once undoubtedly
New and hopeful
Promising Portal
Someone’s pride become
The neighbourhood’s malediction
And the future’s disillusionment.

 

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Reverie #2: Magic

red candle

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Magic is the catalyst for change 
It stirs the open mind
Bringing meaning to Mystery
Blessings to Belief

And when the cauldron of mist is stirred
Then both the Gloom 
And the Glitter are captured
Restrained
Resuscitated  
Then allowed to flourish

To become hope for the future
Of the world’s Sorcery
The creation of a new reality
The super and the supra-natural essence
Of what has been
The foundation of what will yet be
Channeling the birthright of an abiding
And more fulfilling Necromancy.

 

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A Walk Through The Woods To The Sea

cascade creek environment fern

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

A Walk Through The Woods To The Sea

As I breathe in the wild garlic woods
I resurrect a memory.
In bursts of fiery vision
Both eyes and nostrils
Recall the path
Descending without haste
From cornfield to woodland dell
To fern and rill
Beneath the high arches
Of the viaduct
Soft tread over the bracken-strewn turf
Beside the bubbling beck
To meet the waiting waves
On that bleached beach
Promising not only present joy
But with purpose
Though without foreknowledge
Building a cornerstone 
Of my being
Nature’s Marble Halls
Erected to sustain life
To ensure that richness of experience
This continuity of pleasure
Which brings meaning now
When I had thought
Only the memory remained

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The Vagrant

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The Vagrant – WHB …  Pen & Sepia Wash

The Vagrant

Trapped in this
The world’s darkness
Imprisoned with the dead
Penned in this penitentiary
Another life I’ve led

A world unknown surrounds me
And never will unfold
For life exists without me
On such a slender thread I hold

Existence is my penance
My lot
The cross I wear
Nor health
Nor sickness please me
And who is there to care

Caged in perpetuity
Circumscribed by wire
Fettered by well meaning
Yet situation dire

Leave me here to rot
While no one waits my ending
No one guards my cradle
Situation pending

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A Reverie

backlit blur close up dawn

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Reverie

Woebeguileful
Slake my thirst
Kiss me quickly
But hurt me first

For that’s the way
The cookie crumbled
Feet up first
Safely rumbled

Try to take me
Test my twitch
For as long as it lasts
My heart will itch

So tell me teacher 
Tick my box
No more teasing 
Suck my socks

Test my oompah
Play no tricks
Take the tablets
Have a fix

Rid me of all misconception
Stick my pallid interjections
Take them where the sun won’t shine
No half measures
Taste the wine

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A Politician’s Thirst For Power

person dropping paper on box

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

Members of the British Parliament  are currently throwing their hats into the ring in the hope of becoming the next Tory leader and prime minister. The earlier number of 13 hopeful candidates has now been reduced to eleven.  Perhaps there are more to come, or maybe others will think again and withdraw their names from the list.  The Conservative electorate awaits  .  .  .bar-yellow

 

A Politician’s Thirst For Power

Give me hope and lend me foresight,
I must not wait till it’s too late
Perhaps I might
Join the fight,
Grasp at chance and seal my fate

Please, tell me to refrain from trying, 
Tell me now to stop and think. 
Am I helping, 
Ego-crying, 
Will I take things to the brink? 

Is it time to reconsider, 
Time to stop, not interfere? 
Time to ponder, 
Time to wonder, 
Will my offer cost me dear? 

My party needs me like a headache, 
Yet another cross to bear. 
I’m a chancer, 
Fate enhancer. 
Should I do it, should I dare?

Better not, time’s not quite right, 
. . . To be or not to be?
Don’t take a bet, 
My time’s not yet . . . 
Wait a year or two and see. 

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Thy Will Be Done

black and white cemetery christ church

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Thy Will Be Done

Cold to the touch
And past all hearing
Blue-mottled skin
Taught held and cold

The throb of fear
Intensely gripped
Constricted throat
Gulp
Retch 
Took hold

A life switched off
The dark descended
The past screwed up into a ball
Coated with fear
The future threatening
How to sum up
This final call

Che sera
Will be
What was
Was me

The now 
The then
The future
When
Melt into one
Not lost
Nor gone
All rest upon
Thy will be done

Fond memories remain
To feed our forever future

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Let’s Go A-cooarting – A Tykish Tale

Roseberry Topping

THINK TYKE

Risk assessment
Forward planning;
Think ahead
Where you’re ganning.

Trip the Dale
I fancy that.
Today’s assignment
Meet Chop Yat.

Ower the moors
Lyke Wake Walk;
Risks involved,
But let them gawp.

Along the runnel,
Beside the beck.
Could I care less?
What the ‘eck!

Meet up as
Our way we wend
Up Sparrow Lane
Yon far end.

Off to see my bobby dazzler,
Sweet lass o’ mine,
For now and aye
For thee I pine.

Out o’ t’way lad,
Let me pass
Ow do then,
Mi bonnie lass?

Nether nowt nor summat this,
‘Twere thee thissen wot seddit
But now, for real, what’s next is here,
Just lie back and let it.

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  • Tyke (dialect), an English dialect of Northern England spoken in the English county of Yorkshire  (Wikipedia)

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