Despite my personal anguish this year I managed to keep writing though not always as I might have wished.I’d like to thank all my readers and people who made comments because although I would write anyway I believe one does need readers and many interesting folk have been here
Thank you also to my brother Mike for letting us enjoy some of his beautiful photographs here on my blog.He has produced many wonderful images especially of butterflies which are very meaningful symbols as well as being beautiful living creatures on our precious earth.
I wish you all a Happy New Year as does Alfred
How like a prison is a once loved home.
The little trinkets brought back with sea shells,
Which used to feel the rushing of the foam,
Remind me of the absence of him felled.
The strength of features,sharpness of the eye
The sense of others feelings from their face
These qualities, when listed, make me sigh
i long immediately to feel his dear embrace.
I’m caught uncertain after a phone call
I look around to tell him all the news.
Then sadness comes, with emptiness enthralled,
My eye can’t find him in my wider view.
Then alone,imprisoned, I feel in deep grief
And sorrow takes me for its holiest wife
How like a prison is my cubicle
How wary is my body on this chair.
How still my heart and yet my thoughts are fickle.
How fast they fly to you who are not here.
How elegant your letters and your thoughts
How gentle was your touch upon my throat.
And yet you killed my words and all I brought…
You were no lover but an unsubtle goat.
As in this mental jail I’m truly trapped,
I’ll use this time to write and I may pray.
Perhaps my mind can extricate a map..
From which I’ll plot the route to get away.
Some prisons which seem external are inside
Yet in such captive grief soe humans have die.
As I reticulate my face with a frown
Its lines zig zag up and around
I imagine how banal
My face crossed by these canals
The lipstick makes me look a clown
In the map of the city underground
The lines are all straight up and down
For the geography
Doesn’t matter for you see
We wish merely to travel around
Yet is that last line not a lie?
The Circle Line makes no use of pi.
What to leave out
Causes great doubt
I wonder if architects cry.