Posts tagged ‘mutability’

22/06/2013

Rainy Saturday (Barnoldswick, England).

 

No need to water flower beds.

We’ll sit and watch the shoppers dash,

We’ll watch the swallows dodge the drops:

The day will pass with nothing lost.

 

We know the way the branches dance:

The wind blows up the street (not down).

The cat will curl between the pots,

And twitch and mutter through her dreams.

 

We know the patterns of the hours:

The shadows round the basil plants.

We know the moods of sleep and food,

And change (which hardly ever is).

 

I read a book on pointless wars

And wonder: what does all this mean?

 

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19/05/2013

Lost for Words/Words for Loss

 

The words will cease one summer night:

Just midway through an opening line

A poem stops and calm descends.

They drain my veins these awful words.

 

The words have worth I never knew.

Their meanings hide in other minds,

They find their ways to pool their tricks,

They carve their tracks through broken hearts.

 

And I will stare at stars that night,

And see them just as points of light.

And I will feel the wordless dew:

Just notice it and know it’s true.

 

The words will mourn me in my void:

You’ll find the words despairing there.

 

 

19/01/2013

In the Air

 

You lead me through the lives of stars,

Encircle all who wish to see.

You slip through time, you link and bind.

You light the deep and endless blue.

 

Your revelations never cease:

On moonless nights you show the way;

In caves your luminescence shines;

On forest floors you mark the trails.

 

You hold me as I fall apart,

And cradle all my fading sparks.

You gather up the thoughts of me,

And place them on the tops of trees.

 

Your light, which flows through every point,

Connects me to the flux of life.

 

linked up to the great:  Poets United

 

17/11/2012

Actium/Nikopolis

 

The buzzards stand on blistered rock

Where once defeated vessels burnt,

Two thousand summers’ storms and dust

Have left the empire’s vainest crushed.

 

Parades of egrets pass this way,

Their standing plumes like Ptolemy’s.

Where victors strut the herons halt,

And dart to pick the crusted salt.

 

The shallows of the gulf spread east

Where silver shoals entrap the sun,

And let it slip in golden shame,

As Cleopatra’s final flame.

 

The ochre soil and crumbled walls:

Once palace, temples, victory halls.