Heart’s Journey

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

HEART’S  JOURNEY

 

Age has brought no end to loving
Never the torch has shone so bright
Always wishing, always searching, 
Will it last me through the night? 

And when the morning breaks again
Upon those northern heather moors
Will my ageing heart return
Will it still be yours? 

 

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My Heart’s Age

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My Heart’s Age

Do I know how old my heart is?
Do I know its age?
Has it earned its idyll now, 
Has it burnt its rage?

It must be old, older than me, 
It’s showing signs of abuse;
Perhaps a lighter schedule now, 
Less of the fast and loose.

If only I could follow my heart
And it could read my mind,
I’d live within my dream and leave
My remnant life behind.

 

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Hope In The Sea

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‘Ebb Tide’ … WHB  2017 ©

 

HOPE IN THE SEA

The promise of the sea
As it thrusts towards the shore
Is of resurgent love
And with it
the swell in my heart soars
Its tide in turn repeating
What once I had before
When life was young
And in its flow

Now as it ebbs
It is not easy
To renew that glow
Which once provided
all the hope
Of future bliss I ever needed
When sun kissed seas
Spoke loud their passion
Their cresting waves
Breaking one on one
In repeating fashion
Mirroring my wishes
Releasing desires
Bringing the froth and foam
Of hope
To these cool shores

Ribbed sand now reminds
Of what is yet to come
The ripples of my heartbeat
Become the breakers
bolstering my breath 
The thrill of expectation
Arriving with the tide

On what distant shores
have those same waves
Broken their strength
And torn in two
My harried heart

 

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‘Return Me To My Youth

Followers of Roland’s Ragbag will know that, on occasion, I enjoy attempting a, for me, unaccustomed poetic form.  I was again encouraged to do so earlier today by a post on Linda Luna’s blog: ‘The Dark Side of the Moon’ .   Please do take a look at her description of the Decastitch and, in particular at her outline of a particular variation of this many-faceted form named the ‘Ravenfly’.  Her blog contains a clear outline of the form, which I quote as follows:

  In summary, the Ravenfly is:

• A decastich (10-line poem) written in 3 stanzas: 2 quatrains and 1 couplet.
• Syllabic count: 8-7-8-7, 8-7-8-7, 10-10
• Rhyme scheme: abab cdcd ee
• Meter is optional

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RETURN ME TO MY YOUTH

Return me to when I was young 

And life had not yet happened; 

The loves I’ve had, the songs I’ve sung,  

 But now I’m truly saddened, 

For life has bitten me so hard, 

Removing joy and pleasure, 

Leaving my swollen heart so scarred

The pain I cannot measure.

My memories of youth are dear,

The future – still obscure, unclear. 

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A full account of the Decastich and its many different guises can be read on the Poet’s Garret website   (q.v.).

I have posted my above attempt at ‘The Raven’ to the ‘Dark Side Of The Moon’ Challenge.

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SPRING

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SPRING

As earth sleeps
And winter thrives
My heart with the season rests
I await in peace,
I live in hope
Of new growth life attests

As winter ends
Ceases its hold
As daffodils emerge
So life releases
Love again
Its impulse and its urge.

The primrose wakes
Me to the spring
Its milky yellow songs
Sing to me
In gentle tones
Of where my heart belongs

Which is where life
And lust exist
Side by side in joy
So has it ever
always been
Since I was just a boy

And now that I
Am old and wise
Content to face my fate
I look on spring
And with it sing
New life to celebrate.

 

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Photographs: WHB . . . Surrey – March 10th 2018   ©

 

‘The Sum of all our Memories’

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Photo: :  ‘Two Against The World’ – WHB

MEMORIES

If it is true
As it is said
That we are
The sum of all our memories
Then I will collect yours
By colour and by time
Count them
Order them
Sort them into their separate strands
Bind these close together
Plait them into skeins
Then hang them round your neck
As a daisy chain
To adorn and demonstrate
My love for you

Thus I will find
behind that closed facade
That barrier of reticence
The real you
The essence of your being
Your throbbing vibrant heart
Beating its rhythm
In time with my own

I will break down
Your defences
And at last discover
The self which claims
to love me
To want to own me
To be my buttress
Shoring me up
Against my troubles

And when your dam
Finally breaks
The following floods
Will swamp my uncertainties
Shoring up my resolve
So that together
We can face
An unforgiving world

 

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‘I Am’ by Sylvia Plath

[  # 75 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

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‘I took a deep breath

and listened to the old brag of my heart:

I am,

I am,

I am.’


 

Today’s offering is not, strictly speaking a poem.  It is a very short, one sentence, quotation from theThe Bell Jar’, (written under the pseudonym, ‘Victoria Lucas’), the only novel ever written by the American poet, Sylvia Plath, who committed suicide, aged 30, shortly after its publication in 1963.

I am using it today as its introspection does mirror that of John Clare, whose ‘I Am’ verses I featured a week ago.  Both Clare and Plath were troubled beings, suffering for long periods of their lives from severe mood swings and depression.

In this one sentence from her novel, Sylvia Plath, cries out with similar force to that which John Clare was expressing in his poem, for the self-belief and recognition which both felt had eluded them . . .  ‘I AM! yet what I am who cares, or knows?’ 

 

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My Dancing Heart

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My heart has danced
has trembled to the music of time
has rejoiced in the moment
throbbed in both joy and pain

I’ve moved to the music
done all that
travelled where no one has been before
listened to the wind
whispered to the trees
sighed with the sea
in its motion-hungry fervour
and trembled with the waves
as they shuddered towards the shore

I have given my time to the poetry of life
sung its stanzas
rhymed with its lusting lilt
in tune with its echoing cadences

Now in the fullness of my seasons
I recline and muse
over time passed by

Is it to be experienced again
does renewal with the Spring follow
perhaps
in another life
whilst this one fades

The gaps which are left
the shreds in the curtain of my hopes
tear through the seams of my mind
crossing the border into
the parallel worlds in which
my existence lives on
matching my movements
mirroring the moments
since birth in the old
to death in the  now
thus bringing on the new

And my heart now murmurs
to itself
in mockery and mime
bridging the chasm
that separates this world from the next

 

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A Secret Sonnet

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‘Moonlight Tryst’ – WHB: Pen an ink, Dec.2017

A SECRET SONNET

They stressed my heart and bled it
Seeking to find you there,
But try as they could to discover
They never will find out where
You hide in lonely seclusion,
Your impregnable lonely lair.

For you are my cerebral lover,
Living a life in my brain;
We hold our trysts in the moonlight,
Let them look for ever in vain,
They never ever will find you,
For there is nought to explain.

Just a salve to pain and depression,
A caprice with a discreet confession.

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A Broken Heart

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‘Hands On Heart’ Photoshopped  Photo: WHB – Sep., 2017

PALPITATIONS

When palpitations
of the heart
start
that sudden
gulp
that gasp for air

is it love
or lust
or life itself
forcing me to face
my future

that unwonted throb
unwanted gasp
those ensuing reverberations
erupted flutterings
flip-floppings

before I am returned
to that steady beat
that controlled thump
which promises
certitude

My heart
that part
of me
held dear
so near
yet no longer
steady
nor ready
to yearn
to long for
and to desire
to allow free reign
to emotion

now caution
rules
demands attention
ectopic beating
atrial contraction
call it whatever
heart-hiccups
love-stutters
heebie-jeebies
screaming habdabs
all one

palpitations
once a passion
now a symptom

a broken heart
is not
just love forgone
it is
a life in peril

 

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