The Future

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The future
will never be
as we envisage it.
That fact is a given
a constant
by which we will fall
if we do not recognise
its truth
and act accordingly.


Hope

and aspiration
may well prop up
the present,
but they
are not the answer
to that ultimate question –

‘What does the future
hold in store

for me?
for us?’
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The Next Time

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The next time
will always be
the best time
Anticipation
feeds
breeds
on expectation

Tomorrow will be
better than Today
Yesterday’s
revitalised
successor,
Itself refurbished,
re-burnished.
with new hope

To travel hopefully
into an unknown world
of conjecture
and hypothesis
is to have faith
in uncertainty

 

And Optimism
is given to us
to make the future
bearable

 

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How Can It Be?

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How Can It Be?

 

Sad the moment
Instant grief
No containment
No relief

How can it be
That such a stricture
Such hurt
Such pain
Can come to blight
A life again
When all else seems
So sweet
So rich

One thought sustains
And moves us on
Relentless time
Regarding none
Ensures at last
The past is gone
While healing hope remains

 

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A November Tanka

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Dark the days are now

Winter bites as we look on

In November’s clothes

Breeding hope and dulling pain

Will we see this month again?

 

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Tanka is a genre of classical Japanese poetry meaning a short poem, and one of the major genres of Japanese literature.

A Tanka consist of five units (often treated as separate lines when romanized or translated) usually with the pattern of 5-7-5-7-7 syllables per unit or line). Wikipedia.

I have here ended my Tanka with a rhyming couplet

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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

clouds weather sunlight sunrays

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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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