MORNING

‘Morning’ . . . Watercolour: WHB – 2-15

As the seductive sun appears
Dispensing its joy in generous rays
The air I breathe is warm yet fresh
And the world awakes from its malaise.

Content to soak up all the warmth,
The earth, the grass, the trees are still,
Suffused with morning’s cooling  calm
Sharing a taste of earth’s goodwill.

The elfin stream is placid too
Reflecting back the sunlight’s heat
Tending the water’s life below
Coaxing us all the sun to greet.

Oh, make the most of this fair day
Before it melts and drifts away.

I composed this sonnet inspired by an early morning scene in The New Forest, Southern England,  which is also the subject of my pen and wash sketch above.

Travels in my Atlas

‘ATLAS’ . . . Pen & Pencil: WHB – 2021

I travel the world from my Atlas,
As the breadth of my shoulders attests;
I live in its enthralling pages,
My adventures are found in its quests.

As I try to envisage each country –
Its shape, its contiguous states,
I take in its valleys and mountains,
Whatever its landform dictates.

I travel its rail and its highways,
I swim in its rivers and lakes.
I take in its size and its people,
Its history of floods and earthquakes.

I note Its capital city,
Attempt to remember its name,
Its flag, its size and its neighbours,
And whence its languages came.

And when I have finished my travels
I put down my Atlas and sleep.
And consider the pleasures of travel,
A delight and incredibly cheap.

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

Churchyard Leaves

Photo: WHB – Surrey 2020

CHURCHYARD LEAVES

Churchyard leaves
Blanket the dead;
Winter warmth
Of words unsaid.

Deep in their earth,
now ashes and dust,
Forgotten are fears
worries, mistrust.

Here where stillness
reflects on the past,
We meet with the future
Our questions unasked.

Photo: WHB – Surrey 2020

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

Spring Lives – A Reverse Cinquain

 

Photo by Jacek Mleczek on Pexels.com

New Life –

Daffodils burst from gracious earth

Golden in their splendour

Spilling their joy

– Spring Lives

 

 Reverse Cinquain:  Simply a Crapsey Cinquain in which the syllable count appears in reverse order. Adelaide Crapsey’s cinquains utilized a syllable count of 2-4-6-8-2. Therefore, the syllable count of the Reverse Cinquain is 2-8-6-4-2.

Composed in response to Abigail Gronway’s Challenge: at: https://darksideofthemoon583.com/2019/03/08/5-line-poem-challenge-6-reverse-cinquain/

Kurt Vonnegut – ‘Two Little Good Girls’

[  # 86 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

Known primarily as a novelist, Kurt Vonnegut (1922 – 2007) was an American writer. He published 14 novels, three short story collections, five plays, and five works of non-fiction. He is most famous for his darkly satirical, best-selling novel ‘Slaughterhouse-Five’, published in(1969.

I do like this short poem of his which I came across only recently.  Apparently it was never given a title by Vonnegut and was discovered in a letter of 1961 sent by him to a friend.  It has a delightfully simple and artless warmth which engenders such good feeling and optimism.

 

Two little good girls
Watchful and wise —
Clever little hands
And big kind eyes —
Look for signs that the world is good,
Comport themselves as good folk should.
They wonder at a father
Who is sad and funny strong,
And they wonder at a mother
Like a childhood song.
And what, and what
Do the two think of?
Of the sun
And the moon
And the earth
And love.

 

 

 

Summer Sand

SUMMER SAND

( multum in parvo )

 

My hand thrust deep into the sand
held there to enjoy the warmth
then slowly
cupped fingers
rose to the surface

Captured universes
Stellar galaxies
emerging into the salty air
The slightest shift
in Creation’s framework
Reconfigured
to my design

And as I straightened
fingers
to a flat palm
And then gently spread
those same fingers
The sand
water-fell
to return to its kind
Just a residue
of grains
still adhering
to my warmth

But
however small
I had disturbed the Earth
Re-designed The natural world
Left my mark on creation
Forever in its debt

 

[  © WHB . . . With my grateful thanks to Canadian artist, Alma Kerr,
for the inspiration and the original photographs ]

Till The World Ends

Detail of a Dante Gabriel Rossetti painting, modelled by his wife, Elizabeth Siddal

PROMISE TO A LOST LOVE

As the pull of the moon
And the push of the wind
Cause the waves to break on the shore,

So the lure of your face
And the pulse of your heart
Will ever my lifeblood restore.

Till the tides end their flow
And the breeze ceases motion
I vow it’s just you I’ll adore

For when the end comes
And I’m covered in earth
I’ll be with you for time evermore.