Too Short a Life

red lighted candle

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Come to me in dreams
and still my hurting heart;
From all you meant to me
I cannot softly part.

As memory dulls and life
proceeds with steady tread,
it won’t be long before
I follow where you’ve led.

Life is too short for living,
Eternity too long.
Perhaps to swap them over
would right a painful wrong.

 

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My Books

assorted books on shelf

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Since my time began
These paper-pallid treasures
Have mirrored my journey
Have been my journey
Life’s loved luggage
My mind’s mainstay
Collected and cosetted
Divided sub-divided
Arranged and ordered
Guarded and bound
Glanced at and absorbed
Ravaged and discarded
My bulwark against reality
Whilst being my reality
Promising me a solid future
Proving their worth
whilst bolstering my own

 

Adding to the sum

of all I’ve drunk,

Those words I’ve feasted on

Swollen into my life’s core

Embodied now as part of me

Woven into the coarseness of my fabric

Sold to receptive ears

Refined by other germs of passage

Now become the amalgam that is me

And part of every book I’ve ever read.

 

 

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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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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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Time’s Imperative

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Image – courtesy of pexels.com

TIME’S IMPERATIVE

As time ticks on and counts the days 
Leaving my past behind, 
I notice how my history fades,
I become both deaf and blind.

Time holds its head above the crowd 
Perceiving what’s ahead,
But never looking back to see
What I have heard and said. 

Relentless in its forward tread
And ruthlessly intent
On making sure the future comes,
On certitude hell bent.

Oh, tell me then pig-headed Time,
Why this relentless pace
Cannot be paused allowing me
To stay life’s hectic race.

If I could stop your clock and cause
One single beat to sever,
I’d grasp that moment with both hands
And live in it for ever.

 

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The Moon And Sixpence

 

astronomy bright cloud light

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The Moon & Sixpence

 

At such a sight
As the moon at night
So high, so bright
My thoughts take flight
The sheer delight
Of its vibrant white
Its pungent bite
Some day might
Emit its light
End my plight
Leaving me quite
Without foresight
Yet still contrite

All this I write
So slight
And yet
So recondite

My life’s Sixpence 
I’ve almost spent
It’s true
I’m getting old
And to my cost
I’ve loved and lost
My heady tale
Is nearly told

For all my time
The pain, the wine
I’ve trod the edge
So they allege

But despite the sorrow  
The joy and pain
Nothing in vain

The theme has been
I’ve lived my dream

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NOTE:  From ‘Wikipedia’, describing the derivation of the title for Somerset Maugham’s novel, ‘The Moon and Sixpence’, which is loosely based on the life of French artist, Paul Gauguin.

According to some sources, the title, the meaning of which is not explicitly revealed in the book, was taken from a review of Maugham’s novel Of Human Bondage in which the novel’s protagonist, Philip Carey, is described as “so busy yearning for the moon that he never saw the sixpence at his feet.”  According to a 1956 letter from Maugham, “If you look on the ground in search of a sixpence, you don’t look up, and so miss the moon.” Maugham’s title echoes the description of Gauguin by his contemporary biographer, Meier-Graefe (1908): “He [Gauguin] may be charged with having always wanted something else.”

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