Day: April 3, 2017

When true love’s gone

When true love’s gone and doom hangs over head

When life runs like a river to the sea

Then shall I take new lovers to my bed?

And with their carnal touch consoled be?

When my love lies,so breaks my tender heart.

When life seems grey and rocks bestrew my path.

Then, shall I my life of evil start?

And on the world shall I bestow my wrath?

When true love lies and wrecks all loyalty.

When puzzlement makes all my world seem mad.

Then I shall upend causality

And let myself do deeds which make me glad.

For I have love’s sweet child inside my soul

And I shall tend her till at last she’s whole

Out it came out in thunder, bang and smash.

Scott Fitzgerald wrote to get some cash.
His wife desired a watch  to cure her woe
He wrote a story at a crazy dash.

He worked away as if by devils lashed
One day only left to   get the dough
Scott Fitzgerald wrote to get some cash.

Out it came out in thunder, bang and smash.
More often, he  had tried to  find the flow
He wrote a story at a  manic dash.

Fast he worked and faster she did crash.
He got the watch but it was just so-so
Scott Fitzgerald wrote to get her cash.

She fell into the pit where demons flash
For  jewels  seemed not   to heal  her broken soul
He wrote a story  manic in its dash

The husband and the wife were well enmeshed
She tried trinkets, drink and measured flesh.
Scott Fitzgerald wrote to get her cash.
He wrote that story  so it came to pass.

And feeling deeply their dark tides

,

Inside my mind, I dream of gleaming pearls,
Caterpillars, snails with swirling whorls.
I dream contented, all enwrapped;
With reverie and dream I’m lapped.
The inner seas will comfort me,
While gods open my eyes to see

Oh, sweeter than confectionery
Is my old school dictionary.
The words whirl round and fall to shape
The sentences which my world make.
This furnishing is rich and strange
And magically self-arranged.

Oh, sweeter than the love of man
Is reading works of poets long-gone.
And feeling deeply their dark tides,
Upon which our boats may glide.
The sea infinite we float upon
Is the same warm sea the ancients swam.

Sweeter still is this spring air
And the blossom spreading fair.
We’ll drown our selves in grassy field
To the gods of poetry yield.
We’ll rise again and spring up tall
To grow in richness till we fall.

A friendship is not bought in pounds and pence.

If kind to you, I’m cruel to me, myself
For my true nature’s not perceived by you
My health’s  not sickness, sickness is not health

You, a hunter seeking prey by stealth
Are snatching  private feelings to your view
If kind to you,  it’s cruel to me, myself

A true friend in mutuality found wealth.
And this  like a green plant is silence grew
My health’s not  sickness, sickness is not health

 

If you demand  my kindness, get you hence
I’d rather be alone then torn anew.
If kind to you,  it’s cruel to me, myself

 

A friendship is not bought in pounds and pence.
Is not invasive, leaves a hint or clue.
My health’s no sickness, sickness is not health

Once love was a bluebird now it’s flu.
Long gone are the roses damp with dew.
If kind to you, I’m cruel to me, myself
My health’s  not sickness, sickness is not health

 

 

 

 

Spring garden flowers

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The tulips pushed the primroses away
They took the pot from these innocuous  plants
Nature is not kind in such display
The powerful plants can do just what they want.

However, I admire their flowers of red
The shape is elegant, the colour clear.
And had they been in a much bigger bed
Both flowers would give us pleasure without fear.

And now magnolias pink my eyes adore
Two of them  I see from off the bus.
A visual parable, a story for
The short sweet life of all including us.

We deceive ourselves in order to survive.
But shallowness makes trivial  all our lives