Posts tagged ‘love’

20/10/2013

Reflection

 

In you he finds the space to be,

So obvious for all to see.

You sit together on the seats:

You’re sharing thoughts, not needing words.

 

I watch you, wonder if you know,

And wonder if you’re growing cold.

He’s gazing down upon your hands:

You know he is: he often does.

 

And then, I’ve gone a step too far:

Not you, but me I’m reading here.

You catch my eye, then look away.

He only needs to touch your hands.

 

The thoughts pass on, the words have gone:

The two of us are miles apart.

 

 

This poem was written as a response to the photograph by artist Cheryl Garner. It is part of an on-going journey.

The photographs, with poems, can be found at:

www.thecheesewolf.co.uk/category/vicarious-journeys/

the work of Cheryl Garner can be found at:

http://cherylgarner.squarespace.com/

16/09/2013

The Next in Line

 

She waited for the perfect age,

When all the edges fell away,

And language came to mean much more

Than angry taunts and lines in sand.

 

She waited for the smile to grow

Into a subtle arch of peace,

Until the skin had formed and filled,

Until the dresses calmed and flowed.

 

She waited, as she always did,

And when she moved it made such sense:

Her daughter would begin to learn

The secret silences she’d borne.

 

And so began her long decline,

And so began her future’s rise.

 

15/09/2013

The Silent Keeper

 

She held her breath and life whirled round:

It blasted, blew and buffeted,

But somehow, silent, she stood still,

As if untouched, she stayed her voice.

 

Within, she held the secret tales,

And slow, she acted out their ways,

And slow, she carried on the lives,

Of all the slow and silent ones.

 

And all the rest just passed her by,

Ignored her quiet, hopeful words.

They lived so quick they barely lived.

They spoke so fast they made no sense.

 

When she breathed out, all history bent,

But no-one saw their world whirl round.

 

15/09/2013

Her Lineage

 

Her warmth was bundled up with tales,

Her knowledge flowed on through the years,

The gentle heat, the milk and sweet,

The alchemy of cultured thought.

 

And in each bite, a crunch of salt,

The memories of mountain peaks.

From ninety generations formed:

A slight and sliver, ash and heart.

 

With such pride she gave her love,

With each remembered trick and tip.

On every drying shelf a tale,

Another history of grace.

 

She carried secrets to her grave.

She took off much, but left her soul.

 

21/07/2013

The Apple Trees

 

We sit beneath the apple trees,

Which bloomed all through the long decline,

And raised their blossom to the skies:

A world of struggles, famine, war.

 

Those complicated patterns form

Across the grass like veins of time,

And radiate out from the trunk:

They chart another year of growth.

 

Another era for their leaves,

Which we will live, then leave behind,

As bees and beetles, moths and flies.

The shade is cool, our days are short.

 

We plant the seeds and tend the shoots:

Above us spread the apple trees.

 

 

23/06/2013

Rothko Room

 

A London bright with April crowds,

With bridges arching north to south,

And skies a Hockney kind of blue:

A day for hitching heads to clouds.

 

We never really meant to stop,

There was no choice: we wandered in

And stop. We did. In charcoal grey,

And claret rich as Thames and Fleet.

 

The sound was drowned, and heartbeats slowed.

The room was emptied just for us.

I heard you breathing, knew the pulse

Of blood had found its perfect rate.

 

Outside the room a London boomed.

Inside we merged, surrounded, gripped.

 

 

20/05/2013

Secret Hiding Place

 

Amongst the lime-sun barley spikes,

A conch-curled shell of azure hides:

A field of summer, field of spring,

A field that Demeter would sing

 

Where lovers run through trails of stems

And trace their broken tracks through life,

To where the underworld begins,

To where the sun and night are streams.

 

It’s there amongst the twisted grass,

There they hang from grains and grasp

At rains which come as echo seas:

The hidden ones who cast their shells

 

For now their light of life will glow,

And deep within their mysteries flow.

 

 

Poem inspired by the rather wonderful photograph, taken by Silentwonderland,

and found here: http://silentwonderland.wordpress.com/2013/05/13/secret-hiding-place/

 

 

 

 

19/05/2013

Alone Again Or

 

The dust and strings and motel lights:

An Iliad of horns which weep

Across the desert south, and sweeps

The meeting place of every scream.

 

They all converge and break their songs.

Cicada tremolos, which tease

The furtive loves lived out of bounds:

Illegal mouths to feed with dreams.

 

The voices dub and layer above

A canyon deep, where visions clashed

On streets with water cannon blasts.

Achilles – swift – has lost his fight

 

And hangs alone above the sands:

A broken man from distant lands.

 

 

Prompted by:

http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com/2013/05/19/prompt-4-music/

 

inspired by:

Alone Again Or,  by Arthur Lee and Love

13/05/2013

Lasting

 

We’ll waste our few remaining nights,

Enjoy the pointlessness of sleep,

Then call on friends we’d lost to time,

On days we should be fighting for.

 

We’ll make our pacts we know we’ll break.

We’ll tell our loved ones nothing new:

Revealing any more would just

Leave them with more questions.

 

And then we’ll turn our faces up

To sun or clouds, to stars or snow.

We’ll kiss the rain and know it’s true.

As if we had one moment more.

 

We’ll run the emerald fronds of plants

Through fingers touched by magic.

23/04/2013

The Bud

 

Do not delay, don’t wait for word,

The spring will burst the tightest buds

Without you. Summer dries the stream

Without you. Autumn takes the breath

 

Of swallows – late to leave. And death

Will strike with winter ice and waste

The final throes of sun, and then

You’ll miss your time to effervesce.

 

Do not be caught in thoughts of lives

Which could have meant much more than this,

Which could have been, but passed you by.

The buds are leaves, are mould, are gone,

 

And you are watching as they dry.

Become the leaf, return to bud.

 

 

15/12/2012

Song 10: All Things Must Pass

 

The fear and pain, the joy and love,

And everything we ever love,

Unfurls the universe of love:

We pass away, and we are love.

 

The scent of wood smoke from the fire;

Through frosted glass, a shooting star;

A flock of sparrows in the snow;

A note you wrote ten years ago.

 

I read the tales of Gilgamesh,

See broken hearts on river beds.

I walk the ancient woodland ways,

My worth is breath, my nights are days.

 

A life is made as seconds pass,

The birds all know their songs don’t last.

 

 

Here, now, where I listen to All Things Must Pass, by George Harrison

 

linked on to dVerse OLN75

12/12/2012

Song 6: Waterloo Sunset

 

 

Their life began in simple steps,

As all the greatest stories do.

A train, a bridge, a longing glance,

And talking hours in Waterloo.

 

The huddled, shuffling city streams

Rolled by with hushed transparent forms,

Their fingers touched and time stood still.

The river passed beneath and through.

 

And off into the night and lights,

From which a million lovers fled.

They found a café – dragged it out –

She missed her train and then again.

 

Each parting brought them closer to,

The start of life at Waterloo.

 

Waterloo Station, London, where I heard Waterloo Sunset by The Kinks.

12/12/2012

Song 4: One

 

The night of summer winds and storm

And hoping that the rain would fill

The helpless silence of my fears:

I found a tree and offered prayers.

 

The wind had picked a broken fence,

Cartwheeled it passed my open door.

It smashed into a neighbour’s car:

I locked my door and walked on by.

 

Pathetic miles on mile I traipsed

In blistered cold towards the Downs.

Before the hills I found a wood,

With branches falling, streams in flood.

 

I picked the tree, I left my words,

Then fell in tears of true despair.

 

Lewes Road, Brighton where I listened to One by U2

11/12/2012

Song 3: In My Life

 

We held ourselves together then,

As close as sea and shingle shore.

And all who saw the breaking waves

Would know the depths that friendship found.

 

The mystery was, it meant so much,

But drifted like the ocean spray,

Like flint embedded  in the chalk:

We learnt, precarious and lost.

 

And time has shown the scheme of things,

The streets we took which had no plan:

Divergent lines on hazy maps,

And always there seemed no way back.

 

But now I see those lines were waves,

Which love and friendship held through time.

 

 

Brighton, where I listened to In My Life by The Beatles

14/07/2012

The Song of Ondine (The Gift)

 

She gave her songs to forest lakes,

Where autumn larch in echoes sang.

The golden tremors of the fall

Went rippling through her melodies.

 

She gave her songs to crumbling walls,

Where hoopoes nest and stonechats chack.

And ancient stonework melts in rain

As surely as the spring brings change.

 

She gave her song to English parks,

To channelled streams and sculpted weirs,

To jackdaw nests in roofless naves,

And drips from leaves of tulip trees.

 

She gave her songs to form and shape,

As gifts of love we always take.

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26/05/2012

Threads

 

To love the beauty of the world:

How such a beast as this could live.

The nightingales and orange groves:

Beneath them all the fear and loss.

 

To love the mystery and the space:

The measurement of prison walls.

The moorland tops where skylarks rise

Above economies of death.

 

To love the way we grasp at truth:

Its horns are sharp and black with blood.

The only day we have is this.

The gods have made these memories strong.

 

The sun will rise beneath the earth.

The daily horrors count our worth.