Friday 31 January 2014

DRY:



Dry-leaf-twig-field & heart,
Dry-petal-skin-land torn apart,
Dry-eye-hope-love-famine-dust,
Dry-tearless-waterless-left to rust,
Dry-crackling-crunching-dissipating,
Dry-scorched-bone-arid-life now abating.

BARDS:



From the trouble of the world I turn to Bards,
Away from broken dreams of shattered shards,
Those scribes whom cosset my weary old soul,
It´s to them I go, to make me once again whole.

I seek rhymed succor, in their soft imbibed words,
I sip from their chalices & fly high with their birds,
I lay prone sweating, on their beds of vowed love,
When I am broken, with verse, they lift me above.

When battered & tattered, by broken promise & rain,
When stamped on & slapped, with words of cruel pain,
And when my life is unbearable & so intolerably hard,
I turn in my yearning, to my only friends, true loyal Bards.

Thursday 30 January 2014

TEARDROPS:



Softly saline, falling & gently rolling,
From heart, down cheek, soft extolling,
In all hoping, praying & sadly pleading,
For love, forgiveness & all life´s needing,
Teardrops, releasing in pain & old salt, shed,
Wept silently within the soul & lonely bed.

THE WILL:



He´s buried, he´s gone & now the will is read,
Heads bent in respect, for the departed & dead,
The family´s now garbed in vulture´s wept weeds,
Hoping, praying & all pleading their dire sad needs.

Pince-nez shining, upon lawyer´s arrogant long beak,
Family, all quietly sweating, waiting for him to speak,
And then the cruel words were spoken, so very stern,
Most of them then wished that in hell, he would burn.

The house, the furniture, the books, the cars & the land,
Given away, donated, all with wave of pen in dying hand,
To cat’s homes, dog shelters & to those many in real need,
Zilch, nothing left to kith & kin & their sorry grasping greed.

Dead man now gone, forgotten in life & abandoned alone,
In life, nobody ever phoned, called, nor a visit to his home,
They, all forgetting childhood memories & all that he gave,
They now walk away empty handed & he smiles in his grave.

CRACKED PLATE:



Upon that old dresser of forgotten china & glass,
Once belonging to my Grandma, now gone & past,
Now all going to charities, the dump or jumble sale,
Sadly forgotten, crushed into dust & windswept shale.

But please spare me one item, that old cracked plate,
That one standing all alone & having lost all its mates,
Through years of family life, of droppings & errant crash,
The old cracked plate, the last one that wasn´t smashed.

That old plate, of childhood & warm baked cookies placed,
By Grandma, & upon crochet doily, dainty & softly laced,
On cold winter nights, fresh crumpets & hot buttered toast,
Set upon that old plate, the memories I now treasure most.

That old cracked plate, of patterned curling ivy & faded rose,
Forgotten now upon the dusty shelf, in sad & faded repose,
I shall take that plate along with memories, home with me,
Where Grandma & I, upon old plate, shall have a memory tea.

SOME FOLK:



Some people do, some insist & some folk just duly say,
Do these things, do those, go that way, or simply just stay,
Telling me, I should be doing all sorts of marvelous things,
All running me ragged, confused & running round in rings.

They tell me I should enroll, sign on & with all, to compete,
Try swimming, jogging, running, gym, old lycra clad athlete,
What about cooking class, drama, associations, clubs & all?
And sports, games, in fact, anything involving bat, net & ball.

But may I just say, I am not some folk, I am merely only me,
I am certainly not you, not they, not them, nor am I he or she,
To all those who are Yang, I´m simply & happily just their Ying,
And if they are Ying, I am their Yang & that is the song I´ll sing.

So I plead with those people, some folk, to please leave me be,
Folk, I am not you & never will be, & I really like being just me,
I have no desire to belong, to your club, your tribe or your clan,
I love you all for sure, but leave me be, merely to be my own man.