Logic of the sign

You’re my lodestar,you’re my light.
You get me through the darkest night.
You keep me on this path I follow
I hope you’ll  be  here  still tomorrow.

You’re my companion, other self.
You have knowledge, spiritual wealth.
You have studied,you have thought,
In meditation your soul wrought.

You are there when I’m in need.
You don’t allow my fears to breed.
Sometimes I catch a glimpse of you.
You mend my soul when life’s askew

You are here  but dwell unseen
Though you visit me in dreams
Give me words to comfort me
I  live my life  and hope to see.

Images and metaphors
Start and end the global wars
May our  symbols intertwine
With the logic of the sign

How I began writing poetry.

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Apples inspired by Janet Weight Reed artist and blogger

I must have had a wish to write.Because for many years ,I studied books on poetry and creative writing.I began to collect images and events which affected me  emotionally in a notebook.Then one day I asked,When will I  ever  write?
I had to start,  unconfident as I was. Time was passing

Here is the first poem  I wrote.[January 2010]

CHRISTMAS SNOW

Too old for cold,I stand, now ,against the hedge,
Watching the snowflakes in the glare of neon street lights.
Darkness has come early,and I think of country uplands and huddled sheep.
On Salisbury Plain,shepherds watched their flocks
Just as in Bethlehem two thousand years before,
And then ,exactly when?
“Between the wars”,it stopped. Now we know there is no “Between the wars”.
And who decided
To cull the sheep and shepherds and the space for kindness ?
Now that same Plain still exists,but banned
And closed to human-kind,
For bombs ,not wombs
Nor for birth of lamb ,nor gypsy child ,nor Saviour
Where would He go today?
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Photo my own

From the first poem, I can see my mind was wondering if there is any space in the world now safe enough for a creative happening.After I wrote this,I was unsure if I’d get any more inspiration but I did

Here is a slightly later poem

SUN PAINTING
Bright sun
Paints a shadow picture
On the white wall
Dried stems
Of Michaelmas daisies
A leaf caught in a cobweb sways
To and fro.
I gaze.
Silence.

After two years or so I began to write sonnets which I had never believed I could do

 

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It looks and speaks just as a sonnet would

This poem is written in the sonnet form,
And yet I have my doubts about its shape
Though nearly to that structure it conforms
There may be holes where nightmare faces gape.

It looks and speaks just as a sonnet would
And talks of metaphysical concerns.
Do we conclude, as poets and readers should,
That in our schizoid age we cannot learn?

For humans may be decked in clothes of wolves;
And lambs be dressed in lions’ fearsome furs.
Thus, sense is tricked and problems are unsolved.
Landscapes etched, yet details seem quite blurred.

It looks like one,it feels like one,it speaks;
Yet from these words, does human feeling leak?