Cometh The Lockdown

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Stop the world I want to get off;
Let’s have a global fire break.
Give me time to recuperate,
To stop this corvid headache.

We’re hoping for some respite now,
A pause in life’s short passage;;
A little rest may well be best,
A chance to send a message,

Let’s tell the world we’ve not gone mad,
Defy cynics and mockers;
Impress upon the populace
We’ve not gone off our rockers.

For every person, young or old,
Still living on this planet,
Has cause to love a life that’s free,
To live a life – not ban it.

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Who Shall I Pray To?

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WHO SHALL I PRAY TO?

 

It may be 
that only the Little People have my measure,
know the chances I take, 
jockeying for position on the human stage,
risking all.
It is they who understand. 
they have been here before me
and sympathise. 

Now, safe in their elven homes,
reflecting,
they take the long view,
the wise one, 
nodding,
in turn, sympathetic, then disdainful,
smugly disengaged.

For that is their destiny as gods,
to judge, 
to pronounce on the frail and the headstrong;
to be prayed to by feeble humankind, 
free to accept our pitiful offerings. 
free also
to ignore our pleas for redemption. 

Who else do I pray to
when history’s gods fail me? 
Only Solas listens, 
hears,
but his replies I fail to understand, 
and, rudderless, 
am, as ever, left
to choose my own path
in this unstable world.

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While The Whole World Was Sleeping

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WHILE  THE  WORLD  WAS SLEEPING

 

Once while the whole world was sleeping,
It lost sight of the goal it was seeking.
Came a dystopian event
It could not prevent,
Now all of its people are weeping.

 

Our hope for the future it lies,,
Not with prayers or good wishes or sighs,
But on finding a cure,
Or a vaccine that’s sure,
The whole world to revitalise.

 

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Friday – ‘Cometh The Hour’

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An aphorism for each day, keeps the doctor away. Each day this week I am offering a common aphorism, just slightly embellished – for good or ill.

 

Friday – ‘Cometh The Hour’

 

Cometh the hour, cometh the man;

I hope he’s waiting in the wings.

Our world most surely needs him now,

Someone who love and wellness brings.

 

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The Pandemic

 

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THE  PANDEMIC

 

Once while the whole world was sleeping,
It lost sight of the goal it was seeking.
Came a dystopian event
It could not prevent,
Now all of its people are weeping.

 

Our hope for the future it lies
Not with prayers or good wishes or sighs,
But on finding a cure,
Or a vaccine that’s sure,
The whole world to revitalise.

 

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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



Till The World Ends

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Detail of a Dante Gabriel Rossetti painting, modelled by his wife, Elizabeth Siddal

PROMISE TO A LOST LOVE

As the pull of the moon
And the push of the wind
Cause the waves to break on the shore,

So the lure of your face
And the pulse of your heart
Will ever my lifeblood restore.

Till the tides end their flow
And the breeze ceases motion
I vow it’s just you I’ll adore

For when the end comes
And I’m covered in earth
I’ll be with you for time evermore.

 

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My Dancing Heart

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My heart has danced
has trembled to the music of time
has rejoiced in the moment
throbbed in both joy and pain

I’ve moved to the music
done all that
travelled where no one has been before
listened to the wind
whispered to the trees
sighed with the sea
in its motion-hungry fervour
and trembled with the waves
as they shuddered towards the shore

I have given my time to the poetry of life
sung its stanzas
rhymed with its lusting lilt
in tune with its echoing cadences

Now in the fullness of my seasons
I recline and muse
over time passed by

Is it to be experienced again
does renewal with the Spring follow
perhaps
in another life
whilst this one fades

The gaps which are left
the shreds in the curtain of my hopes
tear through the seams of my mind
crossing the border into
the parallel worlds in which
my existence lives on
matching my movements
mirroring the moments
since birth in the old
to death in the  now
thus bringing on the new

And my heart now murmurs
to itself
in mockery and mime
bridging the chasm
that separates this world from the next

 

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THE REAL WORLD

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‘Planet Earth’ . . .  WHB – 1956

THE REAL WORLD

An Attempted Discourse

 

You do annoy me at times

And why is that?

Because I think you are losing touch with reality

What makes you think that?

Because the things you do and say do not make sense

To you, maybe, but then I don’t think you are living in the real world yourself

What do you mean ‘the real world’?

‘Reality’

Is that where you live then?

Well, it’s much more real than yours

How do you know that?

Because I use my reason and all my senses.  You don’t.

And how do you know that I don’t?

Because what you do does not make sense

But that’s what I just said to you

Well, I’m saying it now – to you.

But you can’t do that – I started this argument

What argument?

The one we’re having now

No, we aren’t

You see – that’s just what I mean.  You are not being real

Well, I think I am

I just don’t think so

Well, you’d be wrong

Why should you be right and me wrong?

Because you aren’t living in the real world.

 

Oh . . .   Get real!

 

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