As close to me as in a marriage bed
Across the green and foaming tidal sea.
I do not wonder whether life is fair
Nor whether what’s to come is what should be
The hinterland is not a wishful dream
Whatever I meet there is all itself
So useless are past thoughts and present schemes
My courage,heart and spirit are my wealth.
It’s he who guides and shows me how to see.
Against that we should rage
I learn new skills and see in different ways
My heart is kind and never is it cold
My mind still functions and I’ve much to say
Especially for those handicapped by pain
We all need others outside our own minds
Though loss has struck we look for friends again
A gypsy free of home and bills and rules
But in the climate of the British isles
I’d soon be sick and labelled as a fool.
As Dylan said, against that we should rage
Shall I give home to grievance and to woe
And cultivate my hatred with my tears?
Shall I remember carefully each blow,
And add this sorrow to my anxious fear? ~
I thought by hating you I would have peace
And surely I had reason without doubt.
Yet rumination gave me no release..
For wisdom and compassion it did flout
I remembered then past love and shared sweet words
I gave them freedom in my anguished heart.
I did it for your sake, yet then occurred
A sweetness, joy and gladness in all parts.
To forgive,repent and let go of such grief
Helps us more than hatred’s legal briefs
A stormy sea
We seldom will be satisfied for long
Neither is controlled by human will
As into stormy life, we all are flung
We choose to pre-select what we will see.
Pretend to know what our life’s all about
As in little boats ,we ride a stormy sea.
And with daring climb the mountain with no ropes
We resist the offer of advice
Till ,with broken bones, we sadly mope.
So ,on our path, our hearts will often lurch
Our life is like a shell upon the shore,
.To shrink inside is safe,yet we want more,
To make,to love,to see,at last to be.
To give the living core its chance to grow
.Towards the new we each must shed our doubt.
Every myth and story say it’s so..
To the tiny creature growing in its heart#.
Yet thrown by winds across the rolling sea
The slender cage must open and let part.
So we crack our out grown shells, desiring all
A single one remains
Accentuating coloured fishing boats.
The beauty of the dawn gave hope to me
A restful pleasure made my soft eyes dote.
Scenes from ancient times come close again
The gulls swoop down and sketch their flying charts
Remote as ever from the realm of man.
The in and out of tides of salty sea;
An exact match of houses,hill and skies;
The amber shop, the chip shop,the oak tree.
Though of the two, a single one remains
A lover of the vapid is my friend
So rapidly to boredom we can wend.
Yet should love like this be brought to sudden end
Or clung to as we struggle through the bends?
Genetic, to be treated with mere tact?
Or if it’s learned, then how should I react
To give him aid to learn that which he lacks?
For vapidity’s subjective in its range.
And criticism if ept may then derange,
To lunacy his mind be rearranged.
As the pains we cause may for an era last
Astonishing that we should live at all.
To vent our anger on beloved friends
Will not repair our ills and our mistakes
But may bring friendships to a bitter end.
Who are we to choose when loved ones die?
And do not think this is a needed test.
As if on us God wastes his time to spy.
The lively sperm, a salmon riding high.
The egg awaiting without need for bells
Is fertilised and grows that which shall die.
Unsurprising, that a loved one falls.
Beware the man
No woman ever can be what he dreams
Nor can she give him comfort on the road.
Yet every night he plots and thinks and schemes.~ =
And rarely does he ever go abroad.
No food he eats will satisfy his tongue.
The best wine is as naught to mother’s milk.
He grumbles and will not admit to wrong.
I‘ve known more men than him of this same ilk.
No bed can be the right one for his sleep.
No sheets and pillows suit his wary skin.
He often has made gentle maidens weep
Crying out they’re fat or boney thin.
’ Beware the man who never can adapt
For in own lone wishes he is trapped
A mere mirage
Illusion of no help in my despair.
Yet imagination stirs up needed courage
And helps the mind and heart in their repair.
I’ll use my eyes and ears and skin
Then i that trap, I never shall be caught.
I’ll see and hear to moderate this din.
I’ll focus less on this wound I bear late
And see both good and bad in every space.
So not dismiss the world and all its states.
Perception valued brings to us much treasure.
Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose.
Their intricate petals form a shield
Yet bees with striped force shall make them yield.
Mixed with the wiles of human nature thrive.
As, knowing not, we pluck the apple rare
And bite its flesh,with teeth we have to bare.
Not seeing watchers hid behind the glass.
The windows break,the deep earth quakes;
Seized is the maiden ,he her virtue takes.
What fearsome, burning God enjoys our lives?
A living spark
Another place,another mind
Dialect and grief
And people looked like watercolour flies
And , where we stand and when , invites the sight
But then we learn
A winter day describe
A Gordian knot describes my new made life