A CINCH

Faced with a certainty,
Outcome assured,
I patted my back,
My future secured.

A cinch I then thought,
But then thought again.
Where’s that word from,
It is somewhat arcane?

A cinch – sounds so odd,
why not ‘Easy as Pie’,
‘As falling off a log’.
I wonder just why?

And ‘a piece of cake’
Would do just as well,
As would ‘eating duck soup’,
Or ‘as burning in Hell’.

That I could do
With one limp arm tied,
Behind my own back,
Although I’ve never tried.

Easy and facile,
It couldn’t be simpler;
Not rocket science,
Yes, that in partic’lar.

‘A complete no-brainer’,
‘A walk in the park’,
Something as trivial
As making a mark.

As easy as saying
Your A-B-&-C;
It will all be a breeze
… But no guarantee!

Words Give Life Its Wings

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Tell me what you now remember
of what you said just last December
in one ear and out the other
can’t recall
cannot bother
it’s not uncommon
soon forgotten

But that’s now past
sorry I asked
for words will come
and words will go
they may not last
may lose their meaning
become unclean
become what they
weren’t meant to mean

Stay with the thought
you really ought
forever let them
ebb and flow
come to me
and let them go
for that they do
they wax and wane
they come again
often prone to outlive their stay
maybe then to fade away

Yes
hold that thought
and let it thrive
forever may it stay alive
it came to me in just a flash
even those pure balderdash
may be remembered
some dismembered
some misbegotten
others forgotten

But do not fear
lend me your ear
‘cos, right or wrong
words do live on
in speech and song
alive or lost
twisted and tossed
such living things
give life its wings

The Steps I Tread

Photo: WHB – Thames Towpath: Dec.2020

Trudging the towpath
I come across an
intriguing puzzle path
these hieroglyphs of passage
arrest my motion
defying disturbance
and imposing their mystery
to impede my progress

Now I fear to tread
to de-sanctify their presence
and destroy their meaning
with my care-less trudge

These disguised but so readable signs
I am unable to fathom
greater skills than I have
are required to tell the story
of who, of what
has gone before
and of how I have come
to where I am

However fraught
I remain
caught
in an indecipherable
present
struggling to construe
just what Now means

Mystery abounds
these cuneiform cartouches
defeat my urge for understanding
and I pass on
adding my own meaning
only by the steps I tread

Gaps

Poppies …  WHB Pen &  Wash

There are gaps in my life that need filling,
I know without doubt that they’re there;
I hear them, I see them, I feel them,
My senses are keenly aware.

But perhaps they’re not many, just one,
So large as to to fill up the whole;
Maybe they add up to life’s meaning
And what I consider my soul.

 

Vicissitude

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A word arose from out of nowhere
‘Vicissitude’ it said to me;
Wrenched from somewhere deep inside, 
It felt as though it had to be. 

Long, not easy to pronounce, 
Its meaning vague, irrelevant. 
Just a word, devoid of meaning, 
Neither neat nor elegant.

But full of promise, of expectation, 
Why it appeared I could not say;
Rolled off the tongue with but a murmur;
Perhaps a poem was on its way.

When I researched and felt its import,
Then it was I realised
That words jump out and take a hold;
They do not live to be despised.

They have a life that’s all their own;
They have an ache to be pronounced, 
To demonstrate their unique depth
To live, to love, to be announced.

‘Vicissitude’ is but one word
That truly lives when it is said.
There is a joy in every word –
Heard, used, spoken, or just read.

 

DREAMLAND

WHB . . . Pen & Wash 1957

DREAMLAND

 

I am led to consider
where it is
that my dreams take me 

 

for when I dream
my world I find
has changed
become condensed
circumscribed by boundaries
which pulse with uncertainty
suppressing perspective
and thereby
concentrating my actions
in broken sequence
now vague somehow
contrary to what is natural
purposeful
yet without intent
and I remain
closeted in an oppressive world
one of vague
and indeterminate outcomes
part hopeful
part fearful
never resolved
always shattered by that rude awakening
which abruptly
without asking
returns my life to a real world
wherein
ill-defined ghosts
stumble into meaning

Words as Birds

Photo by Subham Dash on Pexels.com

 

as do birds
words fly

fluttering
hovering
singing
warbling

dull or exotic
cumbersome or succinct
tender or abrupt
yet so high
their sky

carrying
with their wings aflame
both sonority and meaning
their tone surging
from plangent to plaintive
from joyous to rhapsodic

gliding in grace
with forethought and intention
swooping with wit
dipping their wingtips
in pools of light
or in puddles of mud

careless words
trailing doubt
words with a conscience
trilling
swooping
in the summer sun
skimming the surface of reason
dipping to their trees
to rest
to roost
when evening is done

nesting with the need for growth
mating when the time is ripe
breeding as the notion is defined
fledging offspring true to type
nurturing meaning under their wing

always bearing
cushioned within their feathered breasts
for those who care to discover
their true strength
wings beating to pronounce
their significance
the revelation of their truth
the essence of their existence

 

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The Borderlands of POETRY – 4

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POETRY AS DREAM

 

Poetry is my life revealed,
For there, in depth of thought,
Lie all my hopes, my dreams expressed
In words intense and tightly wrought.

Exploring what I hardly know,
Seeking as though dreaming,
I struggle to define my life,
Grasping for more meaning.

The confines of experience
I venture to pursue,
Defining life and love and death,
Their meaning to construe.

And when I’ve sifted every thought,
Mined the deepest seams,
I feel I’ve drained my Muse’s well,
Finding only dreams.