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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In Vino Veritas 

 

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Photo: WHB – Devon 2019  . . .  ©

In Vino Veritas

Truth …  
In wine? 
Pull the other one. 
Stick it on me, babe 
I’ll believe it when I feel it 
 
Next you’ll be persuading me 
Love is blind 
When everyone knows 
However fickle 
It’s in the beholder’s ken 
The plaything of their whim 
Their only hope for the future 
 
Then 
You’ll be saying 
Time flies 
When we all know  
It sinks and swims 
Runs and stutters 
Can’t make its mind up 
Whether to be patient 
Or restive 
Anxious or unhurried 
 
And as for 
Life being for living 
Non sequiturs 
Don’t come better than that 
Its for laughing 
For crying 
But…. 
Above all it’s for dying 
For returning to the earth which spawned us 
For calling time on the pain of living 
 
For …  
And this we must remember …  
As the old song goes 
You can’t have one without the other. 
 
Sic transit gloria mundi 

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Hymn Of Hope

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When Green Hill led to Highcliff Nab
Up from Kemplah Fields, 
Then when all my world was young
And all was meant to be, 
Life was enriched by Nature’s call;
The world was one to me.

Now, when old age has taken youth
And life resolves in retrospection, 
Those childhood days become intense, 
The fount of my reflection. 

I feel, I touch, the close-knit turf
That dressed the hills I trod. 
The waves of bracken still haunt my mind
As if bespoke of God, 
And heather, clothing moor and dale,
Purpling the timeless scene, 
Rekindles every hope I have 
Been granted in the life I’ve seen.

 

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Mirrored Hope

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Photo: WHB – 2019

MIRRORED  HOPE

Ornate
The frame
Impounding
My world

Silver gilt
glistens
Holding
My framed
Existence in its
Reflected copy

How
I wish away 
My life
In exotic scenes

Imaged opulence
Amidst
A morbid
Decaying life

I ask no more
Than for an echo of my future

In my next glimpse
To come to my rescue
And transcribe
My defeatism
Into a reassuring future

No man
Can live for ever
But
To the end
He can deny
That thought

 

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‘Tell Me’ – A Crown Cinquain

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Crown Cinquain

 

Tell me
Pretty maiden
Where have you been hiding
Lost to me all these many years
Now found

Now found
And full of hope
I am able again
To live in bright expectation
Of joy

Of joy
Of coupled love
Rekindling lost passion
Rebirth for my expiring soul
Time heals

Time heals
The wounds of hurt
Complete again with you
Able again to face my world
In peace

In peace
We start again
The slate now wiped clean
The past dissolved in history
Hope lives

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This poem has been composed in response to Abigail Gronway’s (‘Dark Side Of The Moon’) CPC Challenge published 12/4/19.  I quote: . . .

The Crown Cinquain

Like the Cinq-Cinquain that we studied last week, the Crown Cinquain, or Cinquain Chain, is also made up of a series of exactly five Crapsey Cinquains. So what’s the difference? I’m glad you asked. The distinguishing feature of the Crown Cinquain appears in the two-syllable lines at the beginning and end of each stanza, as they are used to link one stanza to another. This process is called a forming link, a chain, or a corona (hence crown).
To be more specific, the last line of each cinquain is repeated as the first line of the next cinquain.
There is one other slight difference. In the Cinq-Cinquain, the stanza breaks are optional; but in the Crown Cinquain, they are required.

So here in summary, is the Crown Cinquain:

a series of 5 [entire] Crapsey Cinquains, 25 lines total
syllabic count: 2-8-6-4-2 in each stanza
written with breaks between stanzas
rhyme is optional
last line of the previous cinquain repeated as first line of the next cinquain

 

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To What Yet Will Be

 

I wanted you to be there
Breaking the cold loch surface
A glimpse of your existence
That sinuous shape
A wave writ large
Imprinted by myth
Granted to my searching eyes
That fearsome snout
Proud Periscope
Rising from the darkness of the depths
To pierce the horizon
Breathing wonder
Awe and grace

Such hopes and wishes
Fulfilled in imagination
Suffice
Sustain my being
When all else fails
Connect my Past
To my Present
And thus
To what yet Will be

Christmas – Three Haiku of Hope

 

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Christmas brings good cheer
But not to all God’s children
Pray time will change that.

Long has it been said
Hope came down at Christmas time
May that be true now

May Christmas bring love
As once it brought Lord Jesus
This Hope still remains.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As The Year Ends

Oriental Image #2-1988

WHB … Pen & Ink – 1988

AS THE YEAR ENDS

Dark the swollen river runs
Under the bridge’s shades of grey.
Slate sky condemns the passive scene
Draining colour from the day.

Tree silhouettes outline my view
Their winter ribs bared to the frost
December bids the old year gone
With no regrets for what is lost. 

The year expires; bid it goodbye, 
It brought distress, re-kindled fears,
It promised much it failed to give,
Left little hope and many tears.

So now, in hope of better times,
Tomorrow holds the future’s key.
New perspectives flood my view
Blue skies as far as I can see.

 

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Waving Goodbye

at the end of a day

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Waving Goodbye

 

Tomorrow threatens not to come

And so I grab at life Today

That ever was Man’s threnody

Through Doubt and Hope to make our way.

And when in truth all light has passed

And Darkness fills the Void with Fear

I realise with certainty

That then, at last, my God is near.

Those who remain to carry on

Carry the Labyrinth’s thread on high,

So human life is held in thrall

Forever set to wave Goodbye.

 

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