The fountain pen glidez softly on the page

The ink connects the words like a blue stream

Thus mind and body both are well  engaged

Writing poetry, recreating dreams.

But now I dictate words into a phone.

The words are beads that hang upon a chain

But writing with a pen was going home.

Wsndering my leafy little lane

.

The hand and eye and brain work as a team

But now my voice distracts me that is plain.

I lose my way and disconnect from dream.

Should I buy a stylus for my screen?

The thought of writing that way makes me scream

Love

When first I saw your soulful face,
Then wished I most to you embrace.
I wished as well to clothe you in
The sacred images within.

To find a home for love without;
To fold my dreams all round about
Your loving body and your face
Were covered in such joy and grace.

But now my dreams are cast aside
The world of meaning denied life.
What seemed most precious now is fled…
And I lie sleepless in my bed.

What is the world when unadorned
With all that in my heart I’ve formed?
There is no meaning I can trace.
As in a mother’s empty face.

On these grey rocks my path is hard.
From paradise, my self is barred.
To struggle or to grief succumb
When this dark day of mourning’s done?

Into His dazzling darkness dart
My dreams and love like dying sparks.
Into His Mystery now so fair
I’ll cast both hope and my despair.

Thus my dreams will be transformed
To show themselves in other forms.
What feels a loss may foretell growth.
On my hope,I’ll take an oath

That nothing in my life is waste,
That I have not for phantasms chased.
And you are human,as am I.
Let’s live again until we die

When I roamed among the Lakeland hills

When I sailed on Windermere or swam

My mother and my sisters roamed with me

But now I am alone my loves are gone

No one left to reminisce or share

The shocks of joy the love of tumbling ghylls

Coming from a dirty ugly tow

Mother struggling with the rent and bills.

I had not dreamt of anything so fair

My skin my eyes my body filled with joy

The scent of  wet old pine trees filled my head

There was nothing there at all that would annoy.

Now I grieve the women folk so dear

But  now I see them smiling through my tears

Stepping Stones

I loved the stepping stones near Ambleside
The river Rothay runs into the Mere
Mingling with the Brathay day and night

In my childish state I wished to die
To make the joy eternal, evermore
I loved the stepping stones near Ambleside

But we went on to Grasmere,Wordsworth’s guide
The river Rothay never suffered here
Mingling with the Brathay day and night

As a child I often was denied
The joy of nature,love but never fear
I loved the stepping stones near Ambleside

The rivers make no effort, down they ride
so should humans live and love sincere
Mingling with our Natures day and night

Life may be a mountain or a mere
The rivers flow, the stones are waiting clear
I loved the stepping stones near Ambleside
Crossing this dear water day and night

http://www.literary-articles.com/2010/02/wordsworths-views-on-poetic-truth.html?m=1

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Aristotle was the fist who declared poetic truth to be superior to historical truth. He called poetry the most philosophic of all writings. Wordsworth agrees with Aristotle in this matter. Poetry is given an exalted position by Wordsworth in such a way that it treats the particular as well as the universal. Its aim is universal truth. Poetry is true to nature. Wordsworth declares poetry to be the “image” or “man and nature”. A poet has to keep in mind that his end (objective) is to impart pleasure. He declares poetry will adjust itself to the new discoveries and inventions of science. It will create a new idiom for the communication of new thoughts. But the poet’s truth is such that sees into heart of things and enables others to see the same. Poetic truth ties all mankind with love and a sense of oneness.

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