Shall I
Hie
Towards the shy?
For it is I.
A flower may die
Untouched by the bee
But what of me?
For who am I?
Shy
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The Sceptic
A sceptic stood on the river bank.
“Jump in
And swim”,
They called to him,
Showing off their strokes.
Having seen it all before
He remained on the bank,
And shrugged as the swimmers sank.
The Enduring Lie of a Golden Age – Part 2…This is Personal
I can relate to much of what Mick says.
Two weeks ago I wrote of the idea so many people have that somewhere in the past there was a ‘Golden Age’ when everything was so much better than today.
I am now going to post what might seem a bit of a contradiction to what I wrote then.
More and more, we are losing our connection with the natural world.
Everyone would have a different opinion on what is meant by the phrase ‘quality of life’, but for me if I am surrounded by concrete structures, with a lack of trees and flowers and birds, animals and insects, if the building I am in consists of electronic devices, plastic, steel, and artificial floor coverings, if my engagement with the day to day tasks of this building consists of pressing buttons, then I feel my own quality of life is much diminished.
A common post appearing on Facebook is of…
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A Thin Thread
A thin thread
Separates the dreamer’s head
From consequences dire.
I see the waker yearning,
His hand turning
Towards the fire.
Fireworks #midnighthaiku
Nature’s silent flames
Pyrotechnical display
Repeated daily
In competition
Recreating transient stars
Man doomed to failure
Poems For November 5th
November 5th is Guy Fawkes or Bonfire Night here in the UK. Below are 2 of my poems with a fireworks/Bonfire Night element to them. The first is entitled “Catherine Wheel” and the second “The Dark”.
Both poems can be found in my collection, “Lost In The Labyrinth Of My Mind”, (http://moyhill.com/lost/).
—
Sometimes I feel
Like a Catherine wheel,
My words as sparks,
Lighting the dark.
But who in December
Remembers
The fifth of November?
—
Closing my curtain
I shut out the night
And the fireworks
Celebrating something
But precisely what
I am uncertain.
While beyond my drapes
The dark
Patiently waits …
Afternoons Long Ago
Afternoons lazing.
No trail blazing.
Desultory chatter.
Dreams shatter.
An invitation.
A pale imitation of love.
You were mine to choose.
I chose to lose.
To lose what? My heart?
Best stick to art,
For if I start
I may impart
Too much.
For Dutch courage has led many a man to say
More than he meant to say.
The street
Where we did meet
Was a cul-de-sac.
Perhaps you yearned,
(We could have turned
Back).
Was it need,
Greed
Or something other
That led you to become a kind of lover?
There Was A Young Man Named Nick
There was a young man named Nick
Who purchased a rain stick.
He danced about
And made great shout,
But it failed to rain on Nick!
—
There was a young man named Nick
Who purchased a rain stick.
He raised it high
Unto the sky
But it failed to rain on Nick!
—
There was a young man named Nick
Who purchased a rain stick.
When it failed to rain
He didn’t complain
But bought another stick!
Lost Track
My dog slumbers
Inocent as the day he came
Into this world
And will leave it the same.
I have long lost track of numbers.
Commercial Break
If we stripped away the advertising hoardings
And quelled the glitzy TV commercials,
Those recordings
Of sexy girls telling you and I
What we ought to buy,
Would we cease going around in ever decreasing circles
And gaze awestruck at the great sky?
Perhaps it would be as above
And love
Of higher things would reign,
But then again
There is the stain
Which caused God to expel
Lucifer to hell
