Weaving Words

book opened on top of white table beside closed red book and round blue foliage ceramic cup on top of saucer

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Weaving Words

. . . A Poet’s Calling

I wander my world 
weaving words into verse
plaiting my thoughts 
into silken skeins of sense
rendering images
from my mind’s eye
to this digital paper
perverse perception
lending life to poetry
lust to hope 
and love to mon amour
the written word.

 
Only in time
with wish fulfilment
perchance my dreams
will meet my expectations 
and produce that meisterwerk
whose impetus
drives me on.

 

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‘The Beautiful Couple’ … A Limerick

miniature pony and girl toys

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There once was a beautiful couple,

Who did press-ups to keep themselves supple.

She said “Look in my eyes”,

He said “I love those big thighs”.

He was clever but not very subtle!

 

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Reverie #9: Echoes of the Past

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Pen & Ink – WHB … Northern Hills

I need to listen to that hidden sound of silence
the murmur that thrills lost souls
and as it swells
reverberates among those distant heathered hills

I crave to hear it burgeon on that lonely land
that misty moor of distant memory
where dwell lush images of the Green Hill
of the High Cliff
the Cass Rock
the Apple Garth
and the bubbling burbling beck
its red waters blooding its banks
with reminders of its ferrous track

A distant memory
rising from deep beneath those ancient northern hills
born of Nature’s cycle
birthed in ironstone
and nurtured in those recurring dreams of my youth
and the lasting images of my old age

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Reverie#8: A Song Before Leaving

close up of tree against sky

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Oh my love
paint me into the shadows of your dreams
I want to be there among the drifting moonbeams of your waning passion
and as their dim light fades in the morning dew
to watch as our hopes sink slowly
through pools of deepest blue.

Let their adagio
their mellow harmonies
accompany the murmurings of my fading breath
and as its remnants settle on the bed of those fathomless depths
let them guide my blissful path to Heaven

 

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Amen Corner

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A house in which to end my days.
Goodbye it says to all,
For here at last I am content
Behind my garden wall.

The name I gave it says it all,
How still, at peace, and blessed,
How glad am I to know such joy,
To be by love possessed.

That final farewell anthem,
When it is heard at last,
Will sound around these humble walls
Where present meets the past.

For I have lived a life I loved,
Loved the path I’ve trod.
Amen was written on my heart
In this my House of God.

A Devon Cottage, England

 

Blue Tooth Rules

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Blue Tooth,
that ancient Nordic King,
Now answers to my needs
Looms large where’re I travel
I go where he now leads

Without his presence
Where would I be
His mystic rune
Connects with me
It dogs my tread
Connects my world
His ancient dread
Now sanitised
Brings you to me instead

And now in this connected world
I hear Old Harald praying
Let me be heard
I’ve much to do
My word goes without saying

 

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My Book

row of books in shelf

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My  Book

I am a mere page in history’s book.
OK, half a page
A sentence even
More than a word, surely,
And not just a letter.
But, what sort of book?
What genre best reflects me?
Sums me up?

Page filler or thriller,
A cold-blooded chiller?
A  semantic romantic
A frantic pedantic?

Obvious or discreet
Tattered, perhaps neat?
Remaindered, deleted,
Victorious or defeated?

Pages torn
Plot stillborn?
A weighty tome,
Still out on loan?
Not understandable,
Or un-put-downable?

Whichever best describes my path
A simpleton, a polymath?
I wonder how I’ll be considered.
A wordsmith wizard
Bewildered, jiggered?
Too slick for some,
Too twee for others.

But please, I beg,
Let it be said –
He wrote with ease
The day to seize,
Not just to please
The passing breeze.

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Reverie #7: Dead Drunk 

alcohol beer beverage bottle

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Reverie #7: Dead Drunk

… A Dirge in the Key of D 

 

Drunk 
Distended and Distressed 
Doped in a Downtown Dive 
what have I Done to Desire to live 
what have I Done to Deserve a life 
what Dread Deeds Do I Declare 
Why is all Despair 
 
Down and out and 
Done to Death 
Dipped in Diesel 
Dressed in Dirt 
Dished up 
Defeated 
and Drowned in Drink 
Doing my Damnedest to Die 
 
Deftly Dealt 
It was a Diamond from the Deck 
Doom’s Deliberate Dance of Death 
Done and Dusted 
Drowned in Dread 
 
IN CASE OF DEATH 
DO NOT RESUSCITATE 

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Samuel Palmer’s ‘Evening Church’

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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.

 

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The Doorkeeper – Let Me In

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Ancient Buddha, set in stone,
Guardian of the door,
Tell me will you let me in,
What else is Heaven for?
Oh, I am weak but well-meaning,
Given to wishful thinking.
Perhaps you’ll promise me the earth
If I give up my drinking.

But I’d have thought that one like you
Would be among the godly.
Not lumbered with a job like this
And behaving very oddly.
For when you came into my view
I saw you in a trance,
Looking as though you’d rather be
On holiday in France.

If you will stretch a minor point
And let a sinner in,
I’m sure you’ll feel a moment’s thought
Will save you from considering
Why it is that I, poor wretch,
with no more to my blame
Than one unproven parking fine,
Should play a waiting game.

I’m pretty sure you could forgive
A few mistaken words,
Those acts of careless rectitude,
Those songs in minor thirds.
Perhaps just now you are best placed
To do a pal a favour.
I am your friend, one of your best,
So please do be my saviour.

 

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