As the autumn rain lashes down, beating the windows to a pulp,
The sky a misty navy grey filled with the week’s memories
Of ochre and crimson maple leaves
Of childhood memories and the sweetest dreams
Linked hands with my beloved
We march, hand in hand, towards our future
For it is you who makes these grey days go flashing by.
Hope.
Just one word
Says so much
If only we had more hope
less misery, we say
But that’s not hope
Hope is knowing
Believing!
There are things out there for us
within us
which give us hope.
Hope gives us hope.
Cherish it.
Nurture it.
Don’t forget to hope.
Flying over Canada, over the unseen peaks and valleys
Not knowing what in life I seek,
But write poetry on planes
(Every flight I do)
It’s beyond relieving to rest one’s mind,
To let your mind’s eye rest
To let it breathe deeply
And close and dream
I wonder what dreams this will form
Dreams of my beloved,
Dreams of harsh happenings
Dreams of travelling, of the life to be
I wonder, I wonder what it will all be
I wonder what the peaks of life will bring
Will they be like the unseen peaks below?
Shrouded in the night, veiled by cloud
Oh I look for someone to look to
For guidance, for comfort, for answers
But they are delayed,
perhaps never to arrive.
Instead, I seek answers from my thoughts,
Which plunge into dark mountainous waterfalls
Which I must observe from afar.
Seeing your softened face
day and night for the last while
as your loving smile
fades and leaves a trace
a life-changing trail
of love, emotions and tenderness
makes me frail
to stand up to life’s somethingness.
Respect
A song by Aretha Franklin,
A good song at that,
The youths would call it “a banger”
But it’s a rather nebulous term
What does respect feel like?
It’s not like hunger, that’s fairly clear
(Actually I’m pretty hungry now)
Or thirst, or bodily desires, they’ll all easy to pin down
Put a pin in, pin on the noticeboard, easy to spot
True respect is many things,
It’s love, it’s knowing when and how to love
It’s the pause before an utterance
It’s people’s liberal stance’
It fits your heart like a glove
Snug and warm inside,
Wanting to put it on again
Most of all, it’s mutual understanding
It’s why we’re both still standing
It’s mature like good vintage cheddar
Although I can’t say I’ve tried to eat respect
It would be good to include it in society’s diet.
For the first poem entitled ‘Respect’, see this link.
These poems are not related, although as others have said, “history doesn’t repeat itself, but it rhymes”.
I think I like to imagine you sitting here
Your body as smooth as jazz
Leaving the confused mess of life behind
Smoothening out its creases
You know I’ve made up my mind
The soft dance of the candlelight
Bathes you in ever-irresistible velvet
Like the crisp crackle of dark chocolate
Melting on your skin, your fingertips
Raising my crown, tugging, pulling, making me affectionate
Oh how that saxophone blares when we kiss
Birds of paradise in utter bliss
In joint unison levitating over life’s jarred days
Oh how I’d deeply wish
You were here to hear this jazzman’s plays.
I want to write a poem about Christmas
About love, and the tender caresses
of good, home-cooked food,
of the shadows of a love
and of last year’s shadows.
How this is the last Christmas I’ll be spending here
A new house, a new home coming near
This one will retire to memory;
as I suppose we shall all one day
one day, it’ll be me and you
memories of us—
reduced to spiritual dust.
But I fail to do that:
I can’t write of Mary
and the way I wished she’d travel
through our souls, our bodies
but maybe I should write of Mary and Joseph
after all, their lad’s had a birthday.
Neither of us will be doing any travelling:
my Mary, well, she was very clear
and the famous lad, well,
he’s a bit on the pale side
(to put it very mildly)
and Santa’s monopolised the market.
In the last minutes of Anglo-Saxon Christmas Day,
writing this in bed, and as proud as a sticky sun ray
with Joni Mitchell lodged nearby:
I’ve yet to see life from both sides
and I’m bloody well looking forward to it
to find out where peace, love and all that waffle resides
maybe on the other side of December 31st
maybe Mary will show me one day.
Then I’ll discover what life’s both sides are
by then I hope to have refreshed my repertoire
and replenished hope’s anguished reservoir.
Overcome by melancholy
Once more on a giant metal bird
Leaving home behind,
Going home,
Flying home for Christmas.
Leaving love behind
Love which was not to be
Not the right time, day or year
Leaving friends like family behind
Leaving home behind
But coming home!
Leaving all the sweat, tears
and stress all behind.
There’s nothing like a parent’s embrace
Of that I needn’t dream.
“What is home?” they ask me
Home is whatever you make it to be
Home is going from one home to another
From love, friends, stress and bother
To family, love, togetherness and a previous life
What is home? This is home. Home is life.
On a resplendent December night
I last looked upon you in a resplendent way
the thick snowflakes, a glorious sight
they fell on your perfect eyelashes, blinking them away.
This little poem is a search for closure of sorts
and I will not reflect upon you like so no more;
despite the pain, the sadness that contorts
my soul, my joy, all bruised, bandaged now, still sore.
We spun around on the dance floor like two fireflies
glowing in the dim cold winter, bright—
your laugh, your eyes, your hair, my heart cries
such raw, unblemished, naked emotional might.
For a fleeting moment I allowed myself to entertain
a future, in sync, waltzing, laughing together
of which now must an icy memory remain
not should our paths cross, for the better?
Your inner and outer beauty shone like a pale rose
and I understood the predicament you lied before
and, for the better like this, I suppose
this final cry, this final poem for you—and no more.
When you voiced your reflected thoughts—
it is as if all winter stood perfectly still around
snowflakes frozen on your lashes like catapults
shaking, crumbling, melting my ground.
I did not wish to give in to hope
but hope and future joy found me nevertheless
since our profound, shared, mutual joy needn’t cope
alas we were wrong and allowed hope into this mess
But now, I have written my raw, grinding emotions for you
Yesterday, when you told me—I would have
cried you a river if it would mean us two
together, our cheeks a light, naked mauve.
This is the best way forward; but didn’t you know
how much your company meant so profoundly
I will miss the laughter, the perspective it used to show
a faded, defunct light will no longer guide me.
I will turn to other lighthouses on these December nights
but never fill I forget your resplendent sights
snowflakes on your lashes
before my heart crumbles, smashes.
This is how it should go, farewell dear friend
no use in pretending, my heart is on the mend;
good luck to my memory of you—my love is now in this poem, here
for I was forced to extinguish its inner end
this postcard of thoughts I will here write and send
and I know, I hold steadfast I will shed no tear
this is best for you and me, dear.
It’s hard for me to write this
as I know not what you or I seek
but it’s my heart and yours I miss
even if they’ve had no chance to speak
I hope they will have one—
not just one, but a great many
I dream of beautiful places, some
you’d take me to, others about you’d tell me
This outpouring of emotion comes quite unexpected
as there was a lady before with whom there was none
there, a dearth of heartfelt I suspected
you, I’ve hardly met, but do you seem to be, could you be, the one?
All this feeling leaves me tumble dried after a storm
It almost gives me wanting to mope
or is it a new chapter being born?
I don’t want to give in to hope.