Will you marry me?


My photograph was taken from a beach in Cornwall, U.K.,  in 2006.  I do trust things turned out better in reality than in my  rather jaundiced, wholly imagined, speculations on the subject of marriage and the impulsive gestures which do often bring it about  –  as demonstrated in some of the ostentatious proposals which took place at the Rio Olympics. (WHB)

‘MARRY ME’ it said in the sky,
The brazenly shouted plea;
Showcasing a lover’s great passion?
A proposal she had to agree.

Was love in there somewhere I wondered?
Was that what the question implied?
A lifelong commitment on offer –
Based on whim, or desire for a bride?

“I’d love to” she whispered so gently,
Accepting his plea without question.
Her doubts were dispelled by his bluster
How could she deny his suggestion?

They married in bliss shortly after,
A lifetime of rapture to come.
With hope for a lifetime of passion?
Well, that’s how it’s meant to be done

The first happy years ran so smoothly;
The path of love seemed to be fine,
But the storm clouds were looming above them
Creating a warning fault line.

It was life intervened in their story,
A lassitude lay on their marriage,
Their ardour and pleasures defeated.
Love stalled, reduced to the humdrum,


Both felt as though they’d been cheated.

Habit had killed off their lustre;
Routine  had entered their souls;
Self-regard took over from closeness;
Possessions their only goals.

So was it for this they were married,
Just to reach an acceptance of sorts?
All passion long lost from their dowry
Now littered with bile and retorts.

The end of this story I’m told?
They parted with barely a whisper;
What began with a flamboyant gesture,
Ended, ‘Not with a bang but a whimper’.

This last line echoing T.S.Eliot’s oft-quoted lines from ‘The Hollow Men’  . . .

‘This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.’

A Death I Die

Loch Earn, Scotland

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow.

T.S. Eliot (The Journey of the Magi)

I wrote this poem, as I did several of my recently blogged poems, many years ago.
In ‘A Death I Die’ below the sober thoughts reflect a dark  mood,  the reason for which I now have no recollection.   For me, at the time of writing, they obviously represented the Shadow, that halfway house between knowing and not-knowing,
between what is and what might be,
between Eliot’s ‘the motion and the act’.

A DEATH I DIE

I have no heart for selfish love
that starts and ends with flesh.
It leads along an endless path,
it binds, compels afresh.

There is a sort of death I die;
Am killed and kill myself.
I am alone in this. I am a willing suicide.
I go on a journey bearing my own end.

This death is a habit, a nasty selfish habit
I know and hate it.
I both give and receive.
The giving is good
– but also a habit.

Receiving – an infinite regression.
We plan the means and the end is all.
Purgatory is the cemetery, time the resurrection.
And All is planned that This should be so.

Without a Bang

Hullabaloo
That joyous word
Gone away
Now little heard

Oft I dwell
On my failed successes
Gone to ground now
With all those other
Of life’s excesses

Clamour ended
Without a racket
Ballyhoo
No more a habit

No more thunder
Don’t misbehave
Cause no stir
A quiet grave


No Commotion
Palaver none
No consternation
And mayhem gone

Brouhaha
was once in fashion
Hubbub
rumpus
Were then a passion

Kerfuffle
bedlam
Have had their day
Pandemonium
no more holds sway

Ballyhoo
And Imbroglio
Tumultuous
turmoil
All had to go


Consternation
Furore
And Ruckus
All dead and gone
without much fuss

Donner und blitzen
Sturm und drang
Together ended
without a bang

Thus the world ends
While I whisper
Not with a bang
But with a whimper


With my grateful thanks to T. S. Eliot who assisted me with the last verse.



Hope for 2021

Photo by Lukas on Pexels.com

When the world feels dark bring a Torch
Let the Torch be brightly lit
Let it illuminate the darkest corners of Earth
May Earth play its part and forever spin
For a spinning Wheel gathers no more Covid
And Covid will be killed by the Needle
And through the eye of that very Needle
Will Nature work her magic
And bring us all a Spring to recall
Life renewed in Hope
For ‘Hope is the thing with Feathers
… Which never stops at all.

VERSE – WHB: Dec.2018 . . . [ With acknowledgement to Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) ]

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com


A Coward’s Charter

Swing the lead
Play it for dead;
Keep a lowly profile
Life is no featherbed,.

Don’t stick your head,
As Joe Soap said,
Above the parapet,
Lest you have it shot at.

Lie very low
Avoid life’s blows
And play the game ‘Dead Donkey’.

Avoid the Pricks,
The pointed arrows
Of outrageous fortune.
And be afraid,
For life is out to get you.
Let that Sea of Fortune
Be forever calm.

No good at last,
With chances past,
To count the cost
When all is lost.

Best play your cards
Close to your chest;
Hide those better feelings.
Be self-indulgent,
Go with your better judgement.
Leave other hearts to their bleeding.

Predictive text 2

close up view of an old typewriter

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

Predictive text 2 (Left-side Word)

Following on from my previous blog on the subject – 2 days ago – I re-print below the results of continuously pressing the LEFT-SIDE Predicted Text suggestions from my SwiftKey keyboard  (the line-breaks are my own!) . . .

… is the kiss of the sea reaches the moon
in the sun won’t be the one to end
my life has come to the brink
and I have no idea how much of it will help me
In telling verse Ideas diverse
Intersperse
my thoughts Broaching
and the fact I have had to blink
to be with you for commenting
and I hope you like the rest of your email
with your comments and suggestions on how we can improve
the 3-level 4 of 3rd party
needs to get the best out of fashion shop
and the best way for us
in order for us
from discarded litter of our boys in the morning
and the Heather clad on Sunday morning
as they will not let me know when
3rd is best to be there for 2pm
or just the same for the rest…   et al

 

A somewhat different result was produced when I tried sequential predicting of text from the right-hand side of my Swiftkey keyboard.  ( the symbols, on my keyboard, but unfortunately not reproduced here in WordPress, were in fact all brightly coloured emoticons) . . .  SEE BELOW

 

Predictive text 3 (Right-side Word)

The war against us in a slice  the government in a net and made a pass through a few days later in a couple  of my youth to help the people with a weird and boring  and to gather all of their performances and the infinite variety and a better place for a meal  in their wistful with their parents a bit young � a bit more than they had been see in our hotel  we had one 1⃣ one 1⃣ the one 1⃣ had to stay at the very top � but they have no choice and it seems to me a while away and a lifetime to get a refund back � it was meant for a while in France �� and a lifetime ago made the first hurdle on my soul mate lol …


. . .   Why Not . . . Give Predictive Text a try on your mobile/tablet/computer? You might produce a fictional masterpiece!


motivational quote

Photo by Bich Tran on Pexels.com

God is a Woman

GodIsAWoman1

God is a Woman, it now is claimed,
No more a scheming Man;
Not that all-seeing, omniscient being,
Of whom I was a fan.

For now this HE becomes a SHE,
My preconceptions lost;
And I must learn to re-construe
To my eternal cost.

I’d rather S/HE was bisexual,
Of indeterminate sex.
That might satisfy all tastes,
Fewer feelings to be vexed.

 

GodIsAWoman2

Photos:WHB 2020 ©

Ars Poetica – A Licence to Versify

Herrick-Anacreontike-1956

Pen & Wash – ‘Herrick’ … WHB   (1956)

Archibald MacLeish  ends his poem ‘Ars Poetica’ with the words

“A poem should not mean
But be”

bar-yellow

Licence to Versify

bar-yellow

My poem exists
Not because
But in spite of me
A virgin birth
Wrenched from an empty womb
An absent father
Mother-smothered

A moment’s thought
spilt words
simultaneously apt
yet contradictory 
In black
On shaded parchment
Devoid of sense
Yet full of purpose
Intent on birth
But clutched by death

Flying free yet
tightly bound
A stillbirth
Suspiciously silent
A jewel in jet
Contradicting sense
By being senseless

Licensed to thrill
For good or ill

 

bar-yellow

 

 

 

SMILE – Spike Milligan

[  # 100 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

 

yellow plush toy

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

This is a wonderfully positive poem, with a delightful premise, wittily expressed by that master of humour, SPIKE  MILLIGAN

SMILE

 

Smiling is infectious
You catch it like the flu

When someone smiled at me today
I started smiling too

I walked around the corner
And someone saw me grin

When he smiled I realised
I had passed it on to him

I thought about the smile
And then realised its worth

A single smile like mine
Could travel round the earth

So if you feel a smile begin
Don’t leave it undetected

Start an epidemic
And get the world infected.

 

Asterisk1a

‘Death’ . . . W.B.Yeats

[  # 98 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

death

This poem, ‘Death’, by W.B.Yeats (1865 – 1939} is one of his shortest.   It attempts to contrast the death of of animals, who do not possess such a concept, with the centrality, the significance and the certitude of what death means in the experience of all human beings.   Yeats wrote this poem in 1929 and published it in his 1933 collection, ‘The Winding Stair and Other Poems’. 

Death

Nor dread nor hope attend
A dying animal;
A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all;
Many times he died,
Many times rose again.
A great man in his pride
Confronting murderous men
Casts derision upon
Supersession of breath;
He knows death to the bone –
Man has created death.

 

Author: William Butler Yeats

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