Some shelled shore

How my heart sings

Walking to the bus stop from our door
We fell into a subtle harmony 
Like little children   dawdling  on the shore

No haste, no chiding, wanting nothing more
Like swimming in a balmy pale blue sea
Or walking to the bus stop from our door

Who is known and which one is the knower?
What is here and what is yet to be
For little children   dawdling  on the shore?

Setting aspirations ever lower
No competing, rush nor victory
Just walking to the bus stop from our door

Though human   who gave us creative power?
Who has loved and who evoked in  me
The feel  of   dawdling  on the sea, the shore?

Who  hears the sorrow, plangent , of the sea
Where earth and stars  reflect  so rhythmically
Walking with you touching nevermore
Oh, that I were with  you on some shelled shore

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Stan’s mind starts to wander

How my heart sings

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  • Stan put on his hat and went down the spring green garden where a blackbird trilled.The sunlight was very strong,almost glaring in intensity.That’s an interesting word,more commonly used to describe the angry expression on the face of an adult who believed he is a position of power,he thought.
    It pains most people to be glared at, he reminded himself.
    Stan’s wife Mary had a habit of humming or even singing as she went about her day at work or home.Usually sshe didn’t realise!
    He recalled the day she came home from her Art Class to amuse him with a tale of a very wealthy and dominating lady who had suddenly glared at Maru and shrieked,
    Is there something wrong with you?
    Mary said,
    Yes, there is actually. but I don’t usually talk about it except with the doctors.
    Why not ? shrieked the woman nastily in her dominatrix style

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Praise these creatures in the grime

I wrote this when I was starting out and I noticed I was drawn to images of worms and beetles and life in the darkness under us.I was not aware of that when I began to write

Winter weather, frost, dark sky,
See white geese and silver stars.
Two cooing doves with collars red,
Are watching out for seeded bread.

From the sun, low in the sky,
Light falls slantwise to my eyes.
Trees bud, though invisibly,
Nothing that our eyes can see.

Bulbs shoot up from dark cold soil
Where worms and beetles quietly toil.
We take for granted air and sky,
Love the birds we see fly by.

But who can love the worms and slugs
And those creatures we call bugs?
So in our dark cold winter time,
Praise these creatures in the grime.

Without these worms, our crops would die.
No cornfields for us to lie,
Amidst the poppies’   wild red  blooms.
So we forget all winter’s gloom
.

Praise the snails and bees and ants
For these and spiders, let’s give thanks.
As the lightness needs the dark,
From darkness come life-giving sparks.

Enrich darkness with our gifts.
Look not always to the swift.
Slow and patient like these worms,
Nature’s lowness is my theme

Like a natural god, the geese divine

When we walked  I  held your hand in mine
We walked  round a small lake  to see geese fly
We  sauntered, in a rhythm were aligned

Time had stopped, the geese  in circles climbed
Then swept  onto the path as we came by
When we walked  I  held your hand in mine

Like a natural god, the geese divine
Landed  in their beauty with a sigh
We  entered  a new rhythm, were aligned

On the shining water  geese in line
Float and hunt for food with little cries
When we walked  I  held your hand in mine

 In our garden for your love I pine
I  cannot love another  till I die
We  sauntered, in a rhythm were aligned

God is on the mountain with his lyre
Singing of the beauty of desire
When we walked  I  warmed your hand in mine
We  lived attuned  to love  until you died

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