Wintertime today I found myself following a blind man with a stick this morning in the shopping mall he bumped into a white fence surrounding a display
He stumbled muttering to me as I asked if I could help “I can see a black line but I can’t see a white fence why do they make these fences white?”
A blind man fearing white desiring the dark
Wintertime snowtime and out in the fields if it is not white it is black silhouettes are for the winter as well as the twilight black against the white darkness loses silhouettes
As the snow settled I wondered could I see white or could I see only the black the black giving definition white reduced to filling the spaces in between not colourless devoid of colour contrast emphasised no subtlety but strength black has become the positive black bringing context and meaning against the white backdrop
As with the blind man it is possible for the darkness of winter to bring conviction certitude and hope.
The crisp crunch of my footsteps as I crossed that frosty field Confirmed to me the joy that winter brings; The frail but wondrous sunlight burning through the morning mist Affirmed a world of wonder in all things.
It brought to me a memory of those long days of my youth, When all was young and all life was tomorrow, When time and love and right and wrong were not things I considered, Just the lasting joy which Nature can bestow.
Tomorrow was a world away from the life that I live now; No anguish that my world might cease to be Before I’d felt and savoured all that life can have to offer, Before the sun sets on that ancient tree.
Despite my knowledge of the pain that’s in the world around me, Bleak Nature seeks to calm its shifting shadows, The seasons, sun, the starlight, still remain to bring us hope, That vital spark from which renewed life flows.
You are what might have been on that alternative path, my abandoned way re-discovered.
But what is now is salient; you make me an offer, propose to me a future that will not arise unless hope turns to reality before Time tires.
When life was fast dissolving, when my world was being wrenched apart, then, supporting your own cross, you came from nowhere to reach out, to connect, to take my hope and cherish it.
What I am left with is no longer despair, but the veiled thrill of tomorrow’s augury.
You could resolve my need, bring me that accord, of touch, of feel, of senses, of minds in tune.
What you do – for me, now, is to engender lust, that lust of my youth, for life, for certitude, which can repel my languor, now sequestered by age, and bring a new intensity, revivify that spark which once embellished all.
No longer my past innocence, but a considered offering, a last grasp at time’s hold on me.
I have been experimenting with the poetic form – The CHERITA . . .
‘Cherita’ is the Malay word for story or tale. A cherita consists of a single stanza of a one-line verse, followed by a two-line verse, and then finishing with a three-line verse. It can be written solo or with up to three partners. (See the website at: https://www.thecherita.com for further information).
A letter arrives.
Hope stirs; Is it from her?
Addressed to: ‘The householder’. One more disappointment.
our world is not always a nice place to be so let’s take off for paradise to do that we must dream so make a wish and dream the dreams made from memories choose daydreams for they are made from pleasant ones precious jewels of remembered moments of childhood pleasures recreated in golden colours under warm and generous skies for what is nirvana but bliss a perfect quietude remembered from that golden age when cares were so far away as to be invisible and joy was present in the simplicity of a walk in a spring meadow in hesitant steps across a bubbling beck in that breath of early evening air bringing the scent of heather and with it the rustle of new leaves bursting to catch the evening air amongst the rolling northern hills the cradled landscape of that now distant home forever a part of my being both bedrock and comfort of my present and succour of my hopes for the future
Walk, Eat, Sleep, Wake, Little to do To myself I talk Thus the story of twenty-twenty Gone the years of more and plenty Cover my face as in disgrace Cross my heart and keep apart Cuddles banned Hugs verboten Kiss me quick all that forgotten When will it end and will it ever A Life to live A love to sever Lock me up they might as well For where I am there I dwell Nothing but time to fill each day And time never ends so here I stay Locked in this cell not feeling well Till hope returns and once again within me burns
With bared feet and sadness in my soul I walk in the shallows the waves rippling to my bare feet I follow the ribs of the sand to their end in the swell of the next wave and by their disappearance I recognise the promise of their continuation for the world is in flux a life beginning as another ends memory fading at first soon settles into expectation an affirmation as the embers of all that cease to be are carried forward in the seeds of a future hope