Category: My Poetry
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If I Should Die
“If I should die before I wake I pray the Lord my soul to take”. Preamble The first proposition is a certainty. I don’t have much more to add to the debate. The second is a little more problematic. Except for the wave of grief Spreading out in diminishing circles, And for this I apologize…
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Gulls
Gulls wheeling overheadCarving patterns that never collide Calling each to other in weirding cries,A raucous chorus that haunts the air Dipping and diving, rising and soaringCarried aloft on unseen stringsBy myriad unseen puppeteers.They follow the boats far out to seaAnd signal their return to port.Regiments in white and blackArrayed in untidy jostling ranksThat hover in…
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Stones
Stones Stones laid one before the other According to my plan. A plan, not drawn in indigo and white, Marches on in halting steps Towards a goal that I design, The line, straight as I am able, True as my eye can see. Stones laid one on one Climbing up to heaven Aspiring, perhaps, to…
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Out Of Hand
Out Of Hand This writing thing has gotten out of hand. There are needs that call for my attention But I have little appetite for them. I am distracted, otherwise engaged, Put off the scent and lead down trails That consume me to exclusion of all else. The fox, forgotten, the scent that is in…
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Lost
Why do we experience loss? Something that was a part of me For a very long time, I grew accustomed to having it By my side. It was my companion, my solace, my comfort It was there when I needed it. And now it is gone And I am lost.
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All That I Have / What More?
I harbour a dark secret Arising in the most quiet of moments, A haunting vision of some future time When someone, perhaps a student Or an idler browsing the dusty stacks Of forgotten verses by forgotten authors And happens upon Palimpsest, Dust cover torn, images faded, pages dogeared. Well worn but little read. It is…
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Story Teller
Story Teller I Am A Storey Teller Seated round the smokey fire Faces clouded in curling wreaths Attentive eyes focused ears listening While I spin threads of myth and fancy For this is what I was meant to be Bred in my bones to tell the tales As told to me Entrusted to me To…
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At The Heart of the Matter
At The Heart Of The MatterWhat is poetry?That dreaded questionPosed by every English teacherTo his cowering first-year classWhat but the artful application of wordsLayer by layer and stone by stoneEach one selected with careShaped and smoothedAnd placed one upon anotherTo build the framework of an ideaAn image without substanceA voice without soundA central image that…
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Drifting
Drifting In The Past Ragged pictures fade in and out, Galleon clouds with tattered sails Drift in and through Mist-shrouded images of things gone by, A dream with eyes wide open Or a dream within a dream. Persistent memories that will not fade, Not that I would wish them to, Appear before my eyes. I…
Palimpsest 