I’ll sing like him all day,


I look up our small street,
To see if you are coming.
I don’t know what time it is,
But I think I hear you humming.

You sang sweet songs for us,
And you could whistle well.
You wore an old tweed jacket
You loved us, I could tell.

I look out there each day,
But I can’t see your tall, thin shape.
I saved your Woodbine packet,
It made me feel some hope.

What does death’s door mean?
Where has Daddy gone?
When will be the welcome day,
When we hear his songs again?

I’ll sing like him all day,
I’ll dream of him all night.
I hope he won’t be angry,
If his cigarettes won’t light!

He can’t write his own songs now.
He went too far away, too soon.
I’ll write down what I think he sang,
And I’ll invent the tune.

I hear him singing now,
He dwells inside my heart.
And though I still can’t see his face,
I recognise his Art.

Oh, culture,  joy, oh  friends,  oh fragrant air

Oh, culture,  joy, oh  friends,  oh  fragrant air
What delights our eyes and brings new life
Summer comes  with sun and visions fair
 Heat and leisure, trees all  green as May
Buds of flowers entice us each to spy
Oh, culture,  joy, oh  friends,  oh  fragrant air
Smiles and laughter, hands held, eyes that stare
Love  erotic, love  of friends, love ripe
Summer comes  with sun and visions fair
Skin to air and skin to skin  declare
From the inner feelings, none escape
Oh, culture,  joy, oh  friends,  oh  fragrant air
As the blackbird sings, so should we pray
Until we see at last  our  true landscape
Summer comes  with sun and visions fair
All our  thoughts  must now evaporate
Until the deeper Mind life illustrates
Oh, culture,  joy, oh  friends,  oh  fragrant air
Summer comes  with gold and visions fair

Shivering on the peak

Shivering on the top of  sheer hillside
The effort is made worthy by the view
Here where lambs  won’t play nor goats  make strides
Shivering humans  love a sheer hillside
My whole self rejoices, is renewed
As with body, so it is with mind
Shivering on the peak, I stand astride
The effort  makes me worthy of this view.

The triolet



“Today, we’re going to look at the triolet (TREE-o-LAY), which has 13th century French roots linked to the rondeau or “round” poem. For over a year now, I’ve been trying to find a way to use the repetitive line heard so often in airport terminals: “The moving sidewalk is about to end.”

The triolet is perfect for this kind of repetition, because the first line of the poem is used 3 times and the second line is used twice. If you do the math on this 8-line poem, you’ll realize there are only 3 other lines to write: 2 of those lines rhyme with the first line, the other rhymes with the second line.

A diagram of the triolet would look like this:

A (first line)
B (second line)
a (rhymes with first line)
A (repeat first line)
a (rhymes with first line)
b (rhymes with second line)
A (repeat first line)
B (repeat second line)

So for the construction of my triolet, I already had my first line: “The moving sidewalk is about to end.” So after some quick thinking I decided to make my second line: and I’m not sure where to go. Pretty good (and true), since I usually don’t know where to go in airports. At this point, my poem looked like this:”

When we cannot pray


The cello has a tender singing voice
Allows the feelings which we cannot say.
Among composers,  Bach would  be my choice
The cello sings   rich lyrics  with her voice.
Rostropovich , Prague ; he wept of course.
Soviet armies  marched, the Czechs  were  flayed.
The cello has a sorrowing truthful voice;
Speaks our feelings when we cannot pray.