Some Times

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Some times it snows
Swirling in white
Drifts in the night
Pearls of soft light

Some days it rains.
Wetness unceasing
Clouds are releasing
The heavens above

And some times the wind
Moans through the trees
Only heaven sees
How life will react

For life will go on
Regardless of me
Not till I cease to be
Will the world be set free

But always it shows
How godliness grows
And nobody knows
How all life will end

AS SHADOWS COME AND GO

as more mute shadows come and go
so
my life does ebb and flow
clinging
disturbingly
with my every motion
not prepared to let me go
until at some time
not yet determined
in the day’s misty murkiness
I will merge with the darkness
along with life’s shrouded meaning
to await that time
which surely will arrive
for the putting out of the light
and the beginning
of death’s adventure

A Rainbow Visited Me Today

Photo:WHB  – 2020  …   ©

 

As upon my chair I lay

To my dismay,

A rainbow crept up my leg today.

‘I like it here’, I heard it say.

‘So warm and cosy, I think I’ll stay.’

She whispered to me ‘Is that O-Kay?

Feeling blessed I could not say ‘Nay.’

Of course, I said, ‘Well, Yes, you may.

A joy, a gift, a bold array.

Do not decay,

No need to pay.

So, please, oh please, don’t ever go away.’

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LIFE’S EPITHET

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Night
no light
And all is dark

Sleep
Deep sleep
No time to mark

Dream
Sweet dream
Life’s hurt forget

Death
Last breath
Life’s epithet

 

 

Reverie#8: A Song Before Leaving

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Oh my love
paint me into the shadows of your dreams
I want to be there among the drifting moonbeams of your waning passion
and as their dim light fades in the morning dew
to watch as our hopes sink slowly
through pools of deepest blue.

Let their adagio
their mellow harmonies
accompany the murmurings of my fading breath
and as its remnants settle on the bed of those fathomless depths
let them guide my blissful path to Heaven

 

Songs My Mother Sang

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The songs were of chill and anguish,
Sad songs with wistful themes,
Telling of loss and longing,
Songs of uncertain dreams.

Wistful, anxious, plaintive,
Sung in the dark days of war,
As though no end to suffering
Would reach us evermore.

She sang of the wandering gypsies,
The old lady sweet and kind,
Of old Barbara Frietchie’s flag,
And the boys who were left behind.

But though her words were sombre
I knew as she held me tight,
Her clutch was so warm and tender
The darkness would turn to light.

 

 

 

 

Memento

 

Chambord:  WHB – Pen & Wash

MEMENTO

 

What of me remains…
Persists when I have gone?

Take away my body
Deconstruct my presence
then rebuild an image
made only of memory
unique to each who knew me
no composite save each
biographed reflected anecdote

Save what I have created
those I have affected,
influenced, guided,
tainted I trust not,
as parent, teacher, associate,
as lover and as friend
as moderator and as judge
as poet and as peasant

Sic transit gloria mundi
And thus my light
in time
as light does
will fade from view

 

 

 

The Creative Spark

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The Creative Spark

 

A single spark began my tale
From an instant of repose. 
The throb of creation stirred within
And burgeoning life arose. 

The candle spluttered into life
As the flame that lit it died. 
It gathered strength and grew apace, 
Its feathered flame untied. 

Flickering gently in still air
Until it caught the breeze, 
Its flame intensified and grew, 
Spreading itself with ease. 

Dispelling gloom, its wholesome light, 
The dark intent to smother. 
The reflected child of one bright spark
And parent of another. 

I thought how works the simile 
To pass its blood line on?
One flame still burning strong and bright,
The other dead and gone. 

Never quite to be extinguished
Parent and child enriched.
The spark that gave my poem life
Gone now but still exists.

 

 

 

‘First Fig’ – Edna St.Vincent Millay

[  # 80 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

Edna St. Vincent Millay was an American poet and playwright who was born in Rockland, Maine, in 1892.  I have used a short poem of  hers before in this series – in November of 2017, q.v. . . .    ‘What Lips My Lips Have Kissed’ .

This poem is even shorter, but I find that it does have a  lot to say, about her own lifestyle and about the times and the milieu which she inhabited in her heyday in 1920s New York.   Millay titled the book in which this poem was published A Few Figs From Thistles, and this poem was the first one in the book, hence ‘First Fig’.

The poem is highly symbolic and the opening line plunges the reader into that arresting metaphor which she uses to describe her wild, bohemian, certainly unorthodox spirit.   The second line, however, recognises the ephemeral nature of such an existence with the bitter-sweet ‘It will not last the night’.  She is acknowledging that brightness is not all, a candle burning simultaneously from both ends will burn twice as quickly and such hedonistic times will not last.

Figs from Thistles: First Fig

 

My candle burns at both ends;

   It will not last the night;

But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—

   It gives a lovely light!

 

 

Sea Light

 

 

As the swell of the sea reaches the shore
Waves wilfully break on the beckoning beach;
Light catches the colours riding the crests,
Blushing in red, in pink and in peach.

While above as we watch in reverence and awe,
The marmalade sky sugars the view,
Embracing the split twixt heaven and earth,
Splitting the vibrant view into two.

In such scenes as this all life gains a meaning,
For life and desire reside in the sea;
The beauty of nature is here embodied,
Bringing contentment and stillness to me.

 

My poem originates from a consideration of the oil paintings of Devon artist, Katie Sarra.  Many of Katie’s paintings present visions of the sea in its many different moods, still, turbulent, calm , moody.   Many of these seascapes are displayed in her gallery facing the River Daw as it runs through the Devonshire seaside town of Dawlish.  Her gallery is named ‘SEA LIGHT’.   It is a great joy to spend time in this beautiful gallery which doubles as a thriving cafe and tea rooms.  Two photographs of the gallery front below . . .