Musing about apples

The apples fly like petals in a gale.
The trees rock and I fear the trunks may break.
The weather in these months has been debauched.
I muse here on what’s Nature and what’s Fate.
An apple tree can live for many years.
Each summer brings the white complicit bloom.
Yet sometimes comes a hurricane that tears
And ends this green and gracious life too soon.
We,like trees, are wantonly destroyed.
Winds sweep in from strange and foreign seas.
The shock may bring us down whilst we still fruit.
Yet mourners one day all of us shall be.
Whilst we live, let’s open hard, closed hearts.
So in anger or in hate we shall not part

The keyhole is too small

   Sometimes I had my eye too close to the keyhole.  
  Pulled there by some force like gravity.  
  I was gazing with a sharp but narrow focus
    into what I thought was the real. 
   But the precision of my gaze
    left out the surroundings,
the other doors and rooms 
   that  I might have inhabited.
  As he came to me and opened his arms with no rancour,
so my eyes opened wider
I took in the new wide vision   
and left my crouched and aching position
    no longer attached like a magnet to your force,
    He was there with his sea eyes. 
   He knew the human condition 
   And how to inhabit a  conversation.
    Of course he’d had his wounds
but never failed to feel    for himself and others.
    In the night he went through in his mind’s eye
the faces  of his friends;holding them ,
like he’d once held fragile rose buds
    when we were married,
    and asked silently for grace.
    The keyhole no longer seemed important
   I suppose narrowing the focus can keep out knowledge of pain
..    But the pain is atill there; 
   I have always loved the word “Acknowledge.”   
And now I use it. I acknowledge this pain

Joy will return one day

Some days are sad and blue
And then we feel lonely too;
Or we cause rifts.

Some days are doldrum days.
Some days are like bad plays.
Not such a gift.

Most days have joyful parts.
Most days we lift our hearts.
They pass all too swift.

Some days love speaks to me.
Some days I feel so free.
I love my craft.

Life is a patterned weave.
Love helps us when we grieve.
Love is a raft.

See how the sun comes back.
See how light fills the gaps..
Some days we laugh.

Weep now and I’ll weep with you.
I have known sorrow too.
Yet sorrow will pass.

Joy is not far away.
Joy will return one day….
Life’s art and craft