When shadow turns to substance In the still of morning’s birth, Then once again I wonder How much my life is worth.
Have I in the scheme of things At last outlived my time? I want to last a fair span yet, To hope is not a crime.
I long to do a thousand things I’ve not had time to do, But is that just a selfish wish I’m not entitled to?
So many of my friends have gone, Lives past while mine’s still here. Do I deserve more time on earth, Or is my ending near?
Such morbid thoughts occur to me More frequently each day. I rush to pack more living in, No halt, pause or delay.
Despite the limits on my life My time is filled with actions. Yet still my mind frets at the thought Of those un-lived attractions.
Why am I selfishly intent On hurtling to nirvana, Grasping at each passing chance More enhanced life to garner?
I could so quietly subside Into a life of ease; No rush, no great exigency My daemons to appease.
Yet I am not content like that, I must remain on course, To stay with, in the time I’m left, This imperative life force.
The two photographs were taken by me in London’s Roman Amphitheatre, which can be found in its restored state in the basement of the City of London Guildhall.
These Roman remains, thought to date to the 1st Century AD, were discovered when the Guildhall Art Gallery was being re-developed in 1985. The original structure could house over 7,000 spectators seated on tiered wooden benches in what would then have been the open air, where they watched the execution of criminals as well as fights, usually to the death, between wild animals and gladiators.
More can be discovered about these little-known remains of the Roman Londinium on the City of London website at:
They live on in dreams Friends who once enriched my life Ghosts of Christmas Past
Ghosts of Christmas Now Fill my days and haunt my nights Bring both joy and fear
Loves I’ll leave behind Ghosts of Christmas Yet To Come They are my future
Senryū
Form of poetry
Description
Senryū is a Japanese form of short poetry similar to haiku in construction: three lines with 17 morae. Senryū tend to be about human foibles while haiku tend to be about nature, and senryū are often cynical or darkly humorous while haiku are more serious. Wikipedia
. . . &, OF COURSE, … REKINDLING RELATIONSHIPS !!!
The two pictures are of ‘the ancient Packhorse Bridge, in Stokesley, N’Yorkshire, England – the first a bas relief wood carving, the second a recent photograph.
At Hampton Court Palace One grey Autumn day, Whilst strolling alone I wandered astray, Discovered this phantom, Too shy to display.
Shroud for a lady, Hide her away. No one must see her Lest somebody say, She’s only a failure, She’s long had her day.
But now she is hidden And no one can see, Then no one will question Just who she might be. They’ll just go on thinking Perhaps she’s a he.
The fact she is ghostly, Clothed in a Shroud, Might give them a hint That she’s not been allowed To be seen out in public, Detached from the crowd.
For in summer when tickets Are hard to come by, That’s when they’ll release her Sustaining the lie. Produce her in costume When darkness is nigh.
The Lady in Grey As a spirit will glide, Patrol the Long Gallery, Make-up applied, Intent upon haunting – A Queen mortified.
So that’s it for the winter, Don’t leave her on show. Come wind and come tempest, Come rain or come snow, This tourist attraction’s The best that I know.
That rival in Scotland, The fishy old coward, In a straight contest, Its legacy soured, It cannot compare With our Catherine Howard.
I include below images of just a few of my pen and watercolour sketches of a variety of waterfront scenes in different parts of Europe to which I have travelled. Click on any one to view a slide show of all the images and locations in larger format . . .
Me? To see me. Who? I know him . . . Not …? … I think so You? Who are you? Do I know you? Should I know you?
“… Oh … Yes … Hello! …”
Familiar … and he knows who I am. … Who I am … Who am I?
‘I’m not at home, you know.’
Not at my home. In a Home On my own. At home.
“Are you happy here?’
I used to know, I think, what happiness was … Now? … It’s not important … Is it?
“ … Yes …”
Nod … Shake my head.
“Do they feed you well?”
Do they? Sometimes … I think
“… Yes …”
“Isn’t the weather lovely?”
I like the sun. When it shines. … and the rain. … Not the wind.
“… Windy … It’s very windy …”
“Do you sit outside sometimes?”
I think so. I don’t know It’s nice.
“Yes . It is very windy”
“ … The leaves are moving …”
It’s not my day It was my day … Once. It’s not my day. Yesterday was my day. … Once. When I was a child. But I am a child. Aren’t I?
“Do they provide entertainment for you?”
“… Sometimes …”
‘Are they looking after you?’
They help me. She helps me Who is she? She wants to help me. I don’t want help But I need help Don’t I?
When I’m wet My chair’s wet I need help Take me away. Let me be Help me
“… Oh, Yes … … The leaves are moving …”
“Oh, look, it’s tea time”
My time They’ll help me eat Something else to do. … To do something To be me…
But not here. I’m all right here I’m happy here … Am I? For now … Yes
“… Is it ?… … I do like tea …”
“… When can I go home?…”
“You are at home”
“. . . Am I? …”
“I’ll come again … soon”
“… Thank you”
# # #
Perhaps next week?
We are not dead Neither are we alive
Only react Never initiate Only react
We … mechanisms, contraptions
Feel But No sense – That’s nonsense
Only Pain brings relief from not being alive
# # #
Winter Trees 2 – WHB … ink – 1988
The above is a recounting, to the best of my memory, of the conversation during a visit I paid a few years ago now, to a dear old friend who had, for several months, been living in a nursing home.
Aysgarth Church at dusk – Pen & Ink . . . WHB – 1981
The Lyke Wake Walk is a 40 mile walk which crosses the most extensive area of heather moorland in England – in the North Yorkshire Moors National Park. When the walk was first instituted in the mid 20th Century the challenge was given to complete it within 24 hours. Many walkers still attempt this.
Although the walk itself is a relatively modern event, the Like Wake itself originated as a funeral chant in the 14th Century in and around Cleveland on and around the northern scarp slope of these moors. The Dirge as it was known, was normally sung during the traditional watch (wake) at the side of the corpse (lyke). Known now as the Lyke Wake Dirge, it is said to be one of the earliest still extant, dialect poems.
John Aubrey wrote in his diaries in 1686 “The beliefe in Yorkshire was amongst the vulgar (perhaps is in part still) that after the person’s death the soule went over Whinny-Moore, and till about 1616-24 at the funerale a woman came and sang the following song.”
Lyke Wake Dirge
This ae neet, this ae neet, Every neet and all, Fire an’ fleet an’ candleleet, And Christ receive thy saul.
If thou from here our wake has passed, Every neet and all, To Whinny Moor thou comes at last, And Christ receive thy saul.
And if ever thou gavest hosen or shoen, Every neet and all, Then sit ye down and put them on, And Christ receive thy saul.
But if hosen or shoen thou ne’er gavest nane, Every neet and all, The whinny will prick thee to thy bare bane, And Christ receive thy saul.
From Whinny Moor when thou mayst pass, Every neet and all, To Brig o’ Dread thou comest at last, And Christ receive thy saul.
From Brig o’ Dread when thou may’st pass, Every neet and all, To Purgatory thou comest at last, And Christ receive thy saul.
And if ever thou gavest meat or drink, Every neet and all, The fire will never make thee shrink, And Christ receive thy saul
But if meat nor drink thou ne’er gav’st nane, Every neet and all, The fire will burn thee to thy bare bane, And Christ receive thy saul.
This ae neet, this ae neet, Every neet and all, Fire an’ fleet an’ candleleet, And Christ receive thy saul.
The following is an extract from ‘Lyke Wake Walk” by Bill Cowley . . .
“Wake” means the watching over a corpse, and “Lyke” is the corpse itself- as in the “lych” gate of a church-c/f. German “leich “. … there is no suggestion that corpses were carried over the Lyke Wake Walk, and the connection between Walk and Dirge is merely that members of the first party to do the Walk, like many who have done it since, finding themselves in the middle of Wheeldale Moor at 3 a.m. felt a great sympathy with all the souls who have to do such a crossing, and a real affection for the poetry of the Dirge-its stark simplicity, repetitions, and dramatic power. Perhaps only those who have crossed Wheeldale or Fylingdales Moors with storm and darkness threatening can fully appreciate the beauty of the Lyke Wake Dirge.
For a sung version of this ancient poem – by Pentangle, click on the YouTube link below . . . Lyke Wake Dirge
Roland's Ragbag 