A WINTER’S TALE

white and black tree illustration

A WINTER’S TALE

Let me steal the midnight’s silence,
The stillness of the dawn,
The dampness of the morning grass,
As one more day is born.

Let me tread the crisp new snow
And breathe the icy blast;
Match my step to winter’s wind,
Relive those pleasures past.

For I must reach another goal
Fate’s purpose to pursue.
Life has been short and gone too soon
My devils to subdue.

And when my grave has opened up
My body to receive
Already mildew on my heart
And few there’ll be to grieve.

 

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Keep Away From Me

KEEP AWAY FROM ME

If I am going to quarantine
Myself, I’d like to know.
Tell me please, in confidence,
Where all of YOU will go.

‘Cos as I’m trying to be safe
I do not want to see
The likes of you and Josephine
Paying a call on me.

That would defeat my purpose
In shutting myself away;
Non-contact is the intention,
To keep the germs at bay.

You may say this is overkill,
But as I’m eighty-five,
I really wish a few more years
To keep myself alive.

 

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Happiness

silhouette photo of man with backpack standing in seashore during golden hour
Photo by Samuel Silitonga on Pexels.com

Happiness

 

Happiness is a fleeting mist
It’s never with me long,
But its hesitant pulse,
Its arrhythmic throb,
Carry my life along.

Its waves can break on distant shores,
Too far away to matter,
But when they crash
On my foreshore,
Then my worries scatter.

Then my spirits rise to fly,
To join that celestial choir,
To reach for joy,
To realise
All that I desire.

 

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ANOTHER  YEAR

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‘Icarus’ … Pen & Wash – WHB – 2020   ©

ANOTHER  YEAR

Another year older
and
against time’s odds
deeper in love –
with life
with living
with a fervid
lust for existence

I want to feel
feel fast
feel free
to fly above my waning world
to feel what Adam felt
when first
he faltered
and fell
feel that Icarus moment
that experienced joy
that knowledge gain
that original lesson
singed
tinged
with both
joy and regret

I fear
I am led
to disregard
inhibitions shackles
and give hedonism
its brazen head

Desire
becomes the imperative
Desire
given to us
to ensure our continued existence
Desire
without which
no history would exist
and all would be
the futility
of Dreamland

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Flower of Perfection

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Photo: WHB … ‘On a Surrey Grave’  – 2019   ©

Flower of Perfection

 

This In Memoriam
Flower of perfection
No brighter yellow
Offset dark greens
Centred in mauve
Dewdropped
Bejewelled
Delicately scented
Microcosm of
A dreamworld’s core
Promising abounding joy
And a life renewed
In Nature’s gift
To a heart-sore world

 

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A New Day

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Morning Sun’ Pen and Wash … WHB – 2016   ©

As the morning warms its shoes,
As the dark gives way to dawn,
So new day begins its tale,
Yet another story born.

Every moment, every day,
Bring new memories again;
Similar but none the same,
Some of joy, others of pain.

Life is made of memories.
When each life has been and gone
Let us all remember this –
Memories are what live on.

 

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Life is made of Memories

Life is made of Memories

As the morning warms its shoes
As the dark gives way to dawn
So new day begins its tale
Yet another story born.

Every moment, every day,
Bring new memories again;
Similar but none the same
Some of joy, others of pain.

Life is made of memories
When each life has been and gone
Let us all remember this
Memories are what live on.

To Sleep … To Dream

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To Sleep … To Dream

 

Sleep drifts across my consciousness
as I enter that make-believe world
where reality sees through a muslin mask
draped damask silk obscures truth
and a samite screen falls across my past

The difference between then and now fades
as a haze envelopes my senses
featureless clouds descend
and my dream-world begins

Reality now hijacked by myth and legend
a new world
untried
untested
a concoction distilled from my history
as unlike my waking world
as noonday is from midnight
as I am from my shadow

SLEEP

Life’s parade ground

Death’s practice ground

 

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