Coffin of Iron

Photo:  WHB – Somerset, 2019   ©

He had died of his wrinkles
Liver spots and age lines
Gnarled and creviced skin
Dusted and singed
By his Lifetime’s fevered furnace
His lungs smoke-charred
Legacy of a thousand undoused fires

As old as the hills he trod
As the bubbling beck he bled
I see six stalwart pall bearers
Hard as ancient twisted nails
Arise from their bed of iron
Raise the dead-weight anvil
His final ferrous coffin
To shoulder height
Begin a steady passage
Through the leaden winter streets
Beneath those snow-clad Northern Hills
Their shrouded clouded sky
Seemingly forever draped
Atop the silent iron tomb

Carried through the dark gate
To its final resting place
Fitting memorial to a smith’s life
Gifted again to the ironstone earth

In memoriam: Harold Booth, Yorkshire blacksmith & farrier; 1909 – 1987

From a son to his father

A New Day

‘Morning Sun’ Pen and Wash … WHB – 2016   ©

As the morning warms its shoes,
As the dark gives way to dawn,
So new day begins its tale,
Yet another story born.

Every moment, every day,
Bring new memories again;
Similar but none the same,
Some of joy, others of pain.

Life is made of memories.
When each life has been and gone
Let us all remember this –
Memories are what live on.

 

On the Pleasures of Being Hirsute

 

Oh for the hair to grow at will,
For growth to flourish unchecked until,
A healthy tash achieved at last,
Measurements rarely ever surpassed.

Twirls and swirls and supercurls,
Better than ever seen on girls,
Now adorned his hirsute face,
Hardly left a breathing space.

To grow so hairy takes a while;
Shame it covers up his smile.
But he is happy, quite ecstatic,
Loves the look, so charismatic. 

Two Word Tales #7- The Past Will Teach

‘Chambord’ … WHB – Pen & Wash

The Past Will Teach

Two words
“I do”
Gave me
Some hope

Two words
“Of Course”
Helped me
To trust

But then
Two words
Led me
To doubt

Those words
“Not now”
Made me
Despair

Two words
“No Luck”
Made clear
My fate

Two words
“Look back”
The past
Will teach

 

My ‘Two Word’ Verses

Number six  in my series of short verses 

 

Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com

A Haiku For Christmas Day

 

Eskdale in Winter:  WHB … Pen and wash – 2017

ON CHRISTMAS DAY

 

The Christmas message

Its meaning of Salvation

Brings hope to the world

 

 

 

A December Tanka

‘Winter’ … WHB – Pen & Ink 2017 

 

Bright the winter sun

Burns in the short day’s heaven

As each day goes by

I think of Bethlehem’s star

Wishing the year ‘Au Revoir’.

 

Tanka is a genre of classical Japanese poetry meaning a short poem, and one of the major genres of Japanese literature.

A Tanka consist of five units (often treated as separate lines when romanized or translated) usually with the pattern of 5-7-5-7-7 syllables per unit or line). Wikipedia.

I have again ended my Tanka with a rhyming couplet.

‘Good, Better, Best’

From a re-created Victorian Schoolroom Museum, Devon, England … Photo WHB.  ©

---

Good, better, best
Never let it rest
Til your good is better
And your better best

 

---

I was here
Here I was
Was I here
Yes I was

 

Nature’s Cavalcade

Samuel Palmer -The valley Thick With Corn

When Hopkins gloried in dappled things
He must have thought of angels’ wings
Of gossamer and cuckoo spit
Of candles flicker-lit

As Palmer did
In silent chapels
In Kentish fields

 

Of darkening woods
where sunlight hides
In sheepland pastures

On downy hills

In buttercup meadows
Where linnet trills

The silent raptures
Of sunset light
On autumn trees
Where swoops the kite

And evening captures
The thickening shadows

The cooling breeze
Midst fields of golden rippling corn
That now adorn the rustic scene

Such glory in apple blossom seen

As they, with Blake,
Held in their hand
Those grains of sand
To wonder more
How Nature’s glory
Explains itself
In storm
And stillness
In calm and frenzy
Light and shade
In setting sun
And mounting moon

The evening’s glaze
In bounteous harvest
Nature’s cavalcade

Birth Of A Poem

Pen & Wash  … WHB 2019

This poem
and its ill-connected words
do not
yet exist

These lines
part-formed and immature
struggle for release
from their birth pangs
strain to express themselves
in meaning
to say what they want to say

Seeking existence
from the seed of an idea
knowing what is needed
but fighting for form and feature
longing to tell its tale and sing
to live
to feel
to be vibrant
cool and yet tense

Always promising more than it can give
allowing its feelings to weep
its thoughts to shudder and provoke
to breathe a bitter breath
to both calm and to excite

Above all
striving to be worthy
in love with what it hears
bringing meaning to an idea
and from its birth
to bring into the world
an infant ode
wanting
hoping
demanding to grow into
a thing of understanding and beauty

Samuel Palmer’s ‘Evening Church’

Samuel Palmer’s Evening Church

 

In the summer evening’s stillness
under the calm
of the the sickle moon
Evensong is softly sung.
The gentle breeze
catching only the occasional sigh
On the evening’s air.
The hope of summer
rests in the gently rolling hills,
the golden sheaves of garnered corn
and the lushness of the blackberries
in the hedgerows.
With solemn seriousness
Nature sighs
and as the evening cools
the silence of the scene
is pierced occasionally
by God’s evening hymn.