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Tag: moving

Home 2

Home, tugging at my heartstrings
Home, slipping away into the dark
Home, why don’t I know what my heart sings
Home, why does every step miss the mark?

As the clouds cover all below
Shrouding memories in mist
Thinking of the thoughts in tow
All the things I might've missed

Questioning my happiness
Wondering what home I miss
And doubting my sadness
Longing for my beloved’s kiss. 

Onwards I go, alone but not lonely
As the way forward becomes clear
My darling, I know that only 
Want you to be by my side, my dear.

Anger

Shouting and throwing things
    spilled tears and spilled dreams
is this really how
    we ought to deal with life's seams?

My love, look at me,
    look me in the eyes
my dear, imagine a world
    with no surprises!

As fuming red turns to foggy hues,
    and words come out in two-by-twos
take a step back
   and see life's funny cues.

No need to spill and make a mess
    if only to one another you'd confess
don't bend over and cry
    and spoil your pretty dress!

If only we'd see what's life's everyday
    instead of fighting day to day
it's not that hard
    if you imagine the beautiful future coming our way.

Departure

This is a different parting
Sure, there were tears, there are travels to be
There is the squeeze and tearing of heartstrings
As the tear rolls down your cheek

But there is something different about this
There is something hopeful beneath the sadness
There is a sense of arrival with the departure
The parting with an old past and coming of a future

A hopeful future,
a future bursting with love and hope
To quash those tears,
to breathe in strength anew.

Music in the Common Room

Tired from a long day’s walk
we rest our weary feet
and sit around a table to meet
and cover the missed day’s talk.

The five lads sitting opposite
take out banjo and fiddle alone
playing, singing tunes of evermore
washing away life’s grime and grit.

The young and naïve poet sitting nearby
tries to capture the jovial mood
but his pen’s no match for the fiddle’s shrewd
tunes of times long whizzed by.

The cold warmth of the autumnal indoors
brings us together here across the world
what an amazing life it is, I behold
the Celtic music healing my sores.

Somethingness

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 (2)

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”.

Jazz

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.

Snowflakes on your lashes

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.

Reflection

With the aural experience of eighties synths
And flying through straits not so dire
That men have no emotion, among other myths
For this reflection upon the present quagmire

For a brief interlude this new land, this new home is left behind
My own feelings depart as a surprise
It turns out, this country, my friends, you mind
Are precious to me beyond any prize

A lady, my sister, my home, my work, a Strait away
This lady, a guiding light, a beacon in times sombre
My friend, a best friend, a sister as bright as day
My work—bleak, grey, compared to my friends’ hearts’ joyful colour.

Strange collection of proud blue and yellow,
I adopt progressively it with great content
The mellifluous language sounds so mellow
Before the dialect’s true internal advent

This meandering sequence of rhyme
Does little justice to those dear to me
Or the country whose habits I mime
It’s hard to talk about, to even see
When you hugged each other thrice
And three cinnamon rolls apiece
So I rolled the fateful dice
Until I return from the seas.

Evening travels

You sit here as the wind groans
listening to grand foreign overtures
you silence the moment the heart moans
for the bottomless taste of foreign statures.

Always imagining where else you could be
as the windowpanes creak aloud
seeing, feeling the rush of the mountain, the flow of the sea,
your thoughts pile on the redundant historic mound.

Here you are, having invested in irregular attire
A shame the peak of it all’s a vest
with your vested interests minding a quagmire
and your mind’s vestibule aflow with alpine zest.

Your thoughts are the only geographical constant
as the seas and oceans they fade into the night
as tonight’s ceaseless winds rampant
wishing, being, hoping to wish to be out of sight.