SUICIDE ON A WHIM

‘River Liffey Inciden’t . . . Pen & Wash . . . WHB – 1994

SUICIDE ON A WHIM

Suicide on a whim
is not unheard of
but few such perpetrators
live to tell the tale

one such
rescued from his indecision
by the Gardai
lived through his trauma
sweet Liffey run softly
while I tell the story

distraught by his
gambling debts
and the drinking
his only way to a conclusion
seemed to him to be
voluntary
self-inflicted
euthanasia
yes
he thought
that he wanted to die
half-determined
part irresolute

in a single moment of wavering
he had jumped
just fell perhaps
but the fear
and the cold water
soon hit him
hit harder
than the twenty foot drop

an instinctive cry
escaped him
you could call it
a change of mind
his cry for help
was a second thought
an unintended consequence
of his half-hearted conviction

and now he was held
grasped in a rescue bid

but did he wish to be salvaged
to be pleaded with
would that bring him
the closure he craved
attention unwanted

but secured
attention secured
but unwanted

and still
he could not let go
the ladder
his passport to life
a life he did not desire
could he bear to go there
yet again
to continue
victim to more pain
to yet more anguish

but temporary chagrin
is no killer
his cri de coeur
answered
his indecision
thwarted

is it heads or tails
is it stay or go
is life’s hurt
greater than death’s pain
is future shame
worse than eternity’s
opprobrium

we will never know
the prognosis
I suspect
he is still amongst us
ever indecisive
a suitor for attention
defaulting on his debts
not stopping at three pints
one of life’s
protean chancers

The WATERFALL

Canonteign Falls, Dartmoor, Devon . . .  Pen & Wash by WHB

THE  WATERFALL

Humble in its origin
on the heather moor
rolling gently down towards
the valley’s deep green floor

Suddenly the land gives way 
beneath its watery tread
and  leads it down the rocky face
towards the river bed

Down the limestone outcrop
over mossy stones
beside the yellowing bracken
it bubbles sighs and moans

Until at last its downward race
is given a pause for rest
before it has to carry  on
with renewed force and zest.

CHERITA #3

My third experiment with the poetic form – The CHERITA . . .

‘Cherita’ is the Malay word for story or tale. A cherita consists of a single stanza of a one-line verse, followed by a two-line verse, and then finishing with a three-line verse. It can be written solo or with up to three partners.  (See the website at:   https://www.thecherita.com for further information).

Rhyming is not required, but here is a version which does include rhyme . . .

‘Boo Hoo’ . . . Photo: WHB 2021

3.

I walked along the towpath

Observing each boat as I passed
Until I reached the very last.

A strange name it had
Some may think it sad
But no, it made me glad.

As The Year Ends

WHB : Pen & Ink – 2018

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.

Escape From Reality

Photo: WHB – Thames Sculler: Dec.2020

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on the deep blue Thames
Heading to I know not where
But joyous to be just there

A winter’s day, With time to spare
No promises to keep
I’ll tone my body, air my lungs,
Before I fall asleep

I am content
I’ve found a place
In silent space
Where life cannot torment

Photo: WHB – Thames Sculler: Dec.2020

Go With The Flow

 Photo:  WHB – 2019   ©

Go With The Flow

 

catspaw on the naked river
run the gauntlet
let it flow
now the murk amidst the mountains
gives the world a humid grace
try to press for more excitement
midst the banality that runs apace

trigger guests and bring them weeping
to that latent humble home
there to quench the embers burning
letting life remember lust
and so distinguish hope from wanting
bringing resolution to purpose
an end to speculation
no last favours granting

the instant instance
the shimmering shade
the glorious glory
of the everglades
burnt out shell of that softer softness
forget the unforgetting minute
press the button that says refresh.

 

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{ By way of clarification, a follow-up to the above poem will be published in 2 days time – on Wednesday 20th November }

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The Ballad of the Fatberg

Fatberg – Fatberg, Growing so fast;
Fatberg – Fatberg, Growing so fast;
Please don’t tell them where I am
They’re sure to set up a webcam.

I’ve made my way along this river
Accepting all from every giver
Now I’m stuck – a great fat ball.
Full of gunge and ten feet tall.

Mounds of wet-wipes, cooking fat.
Now you know what happens to that.
Rolled into one gigantic ball,
Big as the goddammed Albert Hall.

They say how many of us exist
In pipes and rivers in our midst.
Across our fair and pleasant land
Disposed of waste … Ain’t it grand!

When they’ve dispersed my fat and grease
all those wet wipes, every piece
Then at last I’ll meet my end
But then the next one will descend

And when dissolved, where do we go?
Why, into the sea then, don’t you know?
That great big cess pool in the ocean,
Unlikely to stir your dulled emotions. 

A FATBERG is a congealed mass in a sewer system formed by the combination of non-biodegradable solid matter, such as wet wipes, and congealed grease or cooking fat. Fatbergs became a problem in the 2010s in England, because of ageing Victorian sewers and the rise in usage of disposable cloths. Wikipedia

The Lark

I miss you when I wake
From the dark dreams of my night. 
I miss your being there
As the morning streams with light. 

I miss you as I walk
Beside the swift and swollen river.
I feel your loss intensely 
It’s not cold that makes me shiver. 

Where are you now I wonder,
I can’t find you when I search.
I lost you in that springtime
In that faith redeeming church. 

Your lark ascends each morning 
As the sun grows in the sky.
I pray that when I follow
I will find you by and by.

 

 

‘Love’s Philosophy’ – Shelley

[  # 92 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

‘Paola & Francesca’ by John Dicksee

Love’s Philosophy  . . .  By Percy Bysshe Shelley

 

The fountains mingle with the river 

   And the rivers with the ocean, 

The winds of heaven mix for ever 

   With a sweet emotion; 

Nothing in the world is single; 

   All things by a law divine 

In one spirit meet and mingle. 

   Why not I with thine?— 

See the mountains kiss high heaven 

   And the waves clasp one another; 

No sister-flower would be forgiven 

   If it disdained its brother; 

And the sunlight clasps the earth 

   And the moonbeams kiss the sea: 

What is all this sweet work worth 

   If thou kiss not me? 

 

FRAMED

Caught in time’s glimpse
A captured snapshot
Framed by Nature’s eye
Its green circumference
Centring on river bank seclusion
Concentrating vision in
The artist’s eye
Releasing both skill and passion
Into a waiting world
Where
Few will notice
Many will ignore
Hardly any will imbibe
Maybe one will benefit
Whilst the artist’s tears
Spill into his next vision