Remembrance

‘The Churchyard’ – WHB … Pen: 1981

With bared feet
and sadness in my soul
I walk in the shallows
the waves rippling to my bare feet
I follow the ribs of the sand
to their end
in the swell of the next wave
and by their disappearance
I recognise the promise
of their continuation
for the world is in flux
a life beginning
as another ends
memory
fading at first
soon settles
into expectation
an affirmation
as the embers
of all that cease to be
are carried forward
in the seeds of
a future hope

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.

 

“I Would Live In Your Love” … Sara Teasdale

[  # 93 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

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I would  live in your love

As the sea-grasses live in the sea,

Borne up by each wave as it passes,

Drawn down by each wave that recedes;

I would empty my soul

Of the dreams that have gathered in me

I would beat with your heart as it beats,

I would follow your soul as it leads.

A gentle love poem by the American lyric poet, Sara Teasdale (1884-1933).  After her marriage in 1914, she used the name Sara Teasdale Filsinger.  As the sea-grass lives in and is sustained by the sea, so the poet wishes her life to be consumed and given wholly to her love. The images created belie her own love story when it would appear that she married largely to meet with the wishes of her parents.  The marriage ended in divorce in 1929 and just four years later Sarah was found dead in her bath.  Although denied at the time, it is believed that the death was suicide.

The Borderlands of POETRY – 2

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PART THE SECOND

 

My Weeping Soul

 

I weep my truths in poetry
And from my unconscious mind
In the borderlands there
Where the finite
And the incomprehensible meet
My secrets are torn
Crying to be freed
To be revealed
In poured out singing words
Shed in images
Subtle revelatory pictures
My art telling of those wondrous places
Secreted within my core
Which
for good or ill
I never will
Access in any other way
Than through my weeping soul

 

 

 

 

 

On Sleep

A brief meditation on Macbeth’s predicament, following a reading of a book review on ‘Why We Sleep’ by Matthew Walker (Pub. Allen Lane) – December 2017 …

‘Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care, The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course, Chief nourisher in life’s feast.’   Macbeth: Act 2, Scene 2, 

‘Methought I heard a voice cry “Sleep no more… Macbeth does murder sleep!  – – The innocent sleep.” ‘  Macbeth: Act 2, scene 2.

 

Sleep, being dead
What life is left to live
But one unfitted to the name
Rest denied is constant woe
No respite from dread
No safe house from fear
Unnourished now
What hope can ever be
Even contrition
Affording no escape
Confession no solace
Macbeth’s endowment
To the innocent
But afflicted soul