Category: villanelle

Love will need no trick

In my despair I felt that I was stuck
Paralysed by  grief and guilt I failed
By the end I had tried every trick

From prayer unthought to deeps of logic black
My  life, my engine ,juddered off the  rails
I hated God and of “his” Church was  sick

Starving  and alone I was in shock
The death of one I loved   had made me frail
By the end I had tried every trick


I felt  love’s arms around me,  death to block
I knew   this goodness,  why else would I wail?
I   thought I hated God  but Love had struck

Warm and golden light  that  did me hold
Where are you now when refugees  die cold?
Kind despair  that  made me long time sit
By the end I knew  Love needs no trick

Love’s victory

Turn back, live again, he asked of me
Do not wander in this darkness anymore
One just one slip p0 might give death victory

We are each connected to that tree
The sunlit top, the roots hid in earth’s floor
Come back, live again, he asked of me

While we live, we’ll live with dignityqà
Not scrabbling for the gold in blood and gore
One more lie will give sin victory

The kindness of the golden light was clear
And left an image in my mind’s deep core
Come back, live your life, he then soothed me

Do not wonder now why you are here
We’re here to live and living shall restore
What our suffering self has found so dear

I had never seen the Light before
Only Christ the Tyger with his roar
Come back, live through pain, he asked of me
One right step will give love victory

  Thoughts annihilate

Postmodern poetry has no formal shape
No sonnet,villanelle or rondeau there
Nor is it true or false that we are apes

A sentence made from curses aggravates
Makes   even slight hurts something we can’t bear
Postmodern poetry has no formal shape

This very poem’s ironic , it emotes
Glares with total rage at  you who care
If it’s true or false that we are apes

This poem,alas, will offer no escape
If it has no rhymes  then I have flair
Postmodern poetry has no formal shape

The forms are hung until we get to break
We shatter and we crack the poet’s lair
I think it’s true and false that we are apes

For a metre I will hang in here
Waiting with no patience for a jeer
Postmodern poetry has no formal shape
Nor is it true  that  thoughts annihilate

 

I dream into your mind

I wish I were at Whitby by your side
From the Abbey Steps we saw the.whole
The sound of gulls aswirling round our minds

The atmosphere of Yorkshire blunt and kind
Salty air,the North Sea,winds that groan
I wish I were at Whitby by your side

See the children taking donkey rides
The fishermen look anxious , happy, worn,
The sound of gulls is swirling round my mind

From Saltburn,Staithes to Bempton bold cliffs rise
Then Bridlingon where Hockney was a boy
I wish I were at any by your side

The two weeks break seemed long when we arrived
Now all my past seems like an old map torn
The sound of gulls is calling you to mind

To be in Whitby and to be alone
The pie shop’s open yet I feel forlorn
I wish we were at Whitby side by side
The sun and air, I dream into your mind

When the grieving ends

We grieve when we have lost a love or friend
Then grieve because the grieving is now less
We feel the death more when the grieving ends

The rawness of the grief,love seems to lend
As we weep and moan, we love caress
We grieve when we have lost our sweetest friends

My body tense, my heart shrinks to defend
The once good home now is a cruel mess
We feel the death more when first grieving ends

My shoulders hunch, my body can’t pretend
But wishes still to weep, his love I miss
We grieve when we have lost a long known friend

The second grief, illusions’ haunting pends
Can I taste his lips when we can”t kiss
We feel the death more when first grieving ends

Oh, that death were something I could kick
Instead of bringing sorrow to me sick
We grieve when we have lost a spouse or friend
Then hate the empty feeling when grief ends.

I have made my bed on winter leaves

I have walked the silent paths of grief
Sunless, dreary, cold and all alone.
I have slept on beds of winter leaves.

I feel that death’s a cruel, mysterious thief.
Although my heart weeps , and my joy has gone,
I have never felt I was deceived.

I have learned that human life is brief.
I have learned by sorrow we’re undone.
I have sifted earth and what’s beneath.

I have felt my dark emotions seethe
While I’m cruelly mocked by glaring sun.
I have learned the geography of grief.

I wait in patience for my life to ease.
Will I know when my Last Supper’s come?
Will my tale be written on a leaf?

Unconsoled grief can make us dumb
Into our hearts, we drag the ice that numbs
I have walked the silent paths of grief
I have made my bed on winter leaves

God’s little hands

The  branches of the tree  reach out like  hands
The hands of children trusting in their need
Beseeching me to notice their demands

On the sea shore, ghosts of children stand
By gasping waves. where  fishing boats made speed
The  branches  bend out like   god’s little hands

In microcosm, in miniature on land
In macrocosm where the planet bleeds
Beseeches us to  answer earth’s demands

The suck of surf, the prayer of shingle sound
Where  rough plants  fill  the shorelines with their seeds
While  branches  reach out like   god’s little hands

Look stranger  at this island, hear its sounds
The sea birds here, the robin in the weeds
Beseeching man to notice their demands

Prayer  is less important, it’s these needs
Demanding ,without bitterness, our deeds
The  branches of the  trees, the golden strands
Tell us, humankind ,their  last demands

 

 

 

When we walked  I  warmed your hand in mine

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 may never 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

Photo by E.L copyright

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

They told me not to come

They told me not to come to you that day
They said that I was fragile,I should rest
What nonsense when your man’s about to die

They lack imagination,I would pay
If I stayed at home my heart would bust
They told me not to come to you that day

What happens to us when all is awry
My presence should contain you till you left
Not spineless abence when your lover dies

I remember Cleveland Hills and sky
Heather where we lay, embraced and kissed
They told me not to come to you that day

My tears fell like a sheet from helpless eyes
Who undid the warp,undid the weft?
The torture when your man’s about to die

Is our life on earth but a mere test
Followed by God’s kind eternal rest
They told me not to come to you that day
What ignorance when your man that day will die