Offerings

Offerings

 

I know a little, not a lot

but I can lay words at your feet

and hope that you will let them in

nourish them and give them shape

in those long strides we take

in hope, in friendship and shared trust

so that in the fullness of time

we too may become united

in the soft transfer of a love that speaks

so quietly that if we travel in haste

we may damage it in the slipstream of self interest –

that selfish gene that threatens to deny

all the gifts we care to give

Murmurs

Murmurs. pic.

 

the squeezed ooze of blue ink on Basildon Bond

rendered with care from a mother to her daughter

and signing off with, ‘all my love’

this small parcel of observations

from an old lady in Southbourne

lays like an unexploded emotion

on a desk in the loft

a soft Dove of Peace long dead

still sending murmurs across the generations

her gentle devotion so evident

it outlasts the post

and leaves me as the keeper of hope

a guardian at the gate of future generations

and I must admit, I baulk

at the responsibility

Ever Yours,

The Morning After.

The Morning After

The Morning After

 

 

Last night amongst friends

I felt the void

That lost feeling in company

When I am unnaturally meek

And this morning I felt

The geometry of our warm limbs

Soft flesh on shy bones

And the stirring of a forgotten hope

Though all around the evidence

Belies my vacant stare

While downstairs, one child

Coughing with lungs polluted by smoke

Though he is not really a minor now

More progeny ready to make familiar mistakes

With his deep-voiced young friends

Fellow revellers staying over

From trampling decency

At a party in another home

Are ungainly at this hour

Too soon to heed anything really

They are so young

And I feel that void again

The timid being

Who has quietly held my hand

Invisibly for all these years

Beseeching me to take the lead

To rise and shine.

A cup of tea

A cup of tea

A cup of tea

I salute the deep swells

Of an ocean that rolls

It’s hunger audible. Sucking. Heaving.

The breath, then the rasp of shingle

Dragged across the palate

That moment of calm, when

I imagine the stomach is full

Satiated

Before another lunge below the moon

Announces gravity will not wait

And sailors bob on waves

Duty bound, flung in a dance

A flamenco of spray and romance

And me,

So far in land that this

May or may not be happening

But it matters not

Because it satisfies my minds eye.

Thames. River-side

Thames. River side

Thames. River side

I see the river and ache

I love this place

This manor, in which I am a lordly presence

Mine now and memories

But all the familiar smells

The scope of my nostalgia

This safety

Is it vanity?

Would I vouchsafe it all

Glibly, for golden sands in the Grenadines

Pose with chromatic lenses above a cocktail

Dream sweep a panorama “of it all”

In that am I shallow?

These feelings come to me

Disturb me because I need

Truth and beauty

I fear decay. Any wanton loss

Any light that shines upon

My frailty

All the lies and half-truths

That have bled from me

They are stains

Rust around the lettering

The messages I see.

A rider on the swells

A rider on the swells

A rider on the swells

So the poet in me speaks

Is this an accretion of sighs?

Or has today given me spoils,

an accretion of smiles?

I am forever riding the crests of waves

Being sucked under and below

Roiling back and forth

On an incessant tide

That rides with a roar

And recedes with a screech

Leaving me naked

Abraded by events and thoughts

That linger or are lost

Are careless with me

Posing questions

Leaving a little occasional wisdom

On the simpering callousness of life

Or the warm glow of love

I am the given. I shall not resist

Though hark at me

When so many souls are perishing at sea.

ROOM

ROOM

ROOM

 

Smudges around

Scared eyes

Betray the fear

That inhabits the one

Who sits in a shared space

And waits

For the show to gather pace

 

Voices raised

Share real and imagined pain

In the room

Where the past resides

In torn parcels

Willing to rend

To sympathy and hope

 

Who knows

Where those eyes go

When the show melts away

To comfort

To further pain

Will fingers wipe

Away the hurt