I recall
Collecting conkers and acorns
From woodland lawns.
Some came over the wall
To lie
on the path.
I gathered them
As I passed.
I was a boy back then
And loved Autumn.
I love her still
And know I will
As all men
Become as those conkers and acorns
I gathered in childhood
From woodland lawns.
I have held them tight
Although I know
Come the end of night
They must go
And I will be left,
Bereft
Thinking on butterflies
Who pass
And lust,
Fragile as glass.
I have heard the hours
Tick by
And grown old
In arms I can not hold.
But Spring flowers
Provide a temporary
Relief from cold.
I have sought
The flower’s heart
And fought
With the same
pleasure and pain
Over and over again.
In the end only art remains
For blooms must fade
And the poet leaves behind
Merely a rhyme
On ink stained page
I tried to grasp
The wind
Who sang to me.
But I could only catch
A thought.
But it flew free.
My words caper on paper
While the wind sings
And laughs at me.
Most things decline.
This mind
Will not stay.
Few will read my rhyme
When I have gone away.
Yet I have this day
Of Autumn
Where the wind blows, momentarily,
And I am caught
In inner talk
All is temporary
Save for the breeze
Who sings
Eternally.
I was very touched to read this new review of Shadows and Birdsong on Goodreads. Andrew Frank — who describes himself as “not a great follower of poetry” — found the book while sitting alone in a pub, and connected deeply with several poems.
He writes about:
He ends with a gentle invitation: he’s still sitting in the bar with a copy, happy to discuss the poems further.
You can read his full review here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/8934320938
To walk through acorns
On Autumn lawns
While barefoot
Would give me pleasure
In this gentle weather.
But they might shut me up
Where the air
Is replete with bleach
And fluorescent lights
Burn day and night.
I would long for birdsong
And lawns
Littered with acorns.
I should walk barefoot.
I would attract strange looks.
But there would be no hospital ward.
To confine me.
Just the reward
Of autumn grass
Under my feet.
I should go
Before old time defeats
All I am
And see
The heat has passed,
Temporarily.
The rain
Turns the grass
Green again.
Autumn draws near.
Another year
Will come.
But, if I am no longer here
Will it still be so?
Philosophers go
Down rabbit holes.
While I see
The rain
Has brought the greenery
Back again.
And I feel happy,
Temporarily.
I have sat on bar stools
As fools
Pontificate in love and hate.
From on high, I
Have judged women and men
Thinking myself superior to them
Yet in the quiet
Of morning time
I rhyme
Of imperfect man
And I who am
As them.
We role played.
Afterwards you stayed
And spoke of your childhood
Which, on the whole, was good.
Then you told me
Of a family friend’s knee …
But now you are at university
And all that was long ago,
And besides, you do not know
Whether it was really so.
And of course you are free
To say “no”
To me
It happened years ago
And I have no responsibility
For what he may
Or may not have done.
Its just fun
To engage in role play.
No harm is done
Or so we say
Sitting in just
My boxer shorts
In the cool of a summer morning,
I think on is and ought.
I touch
My own skin.
And think how thin
Is the veil
That separates me
From the eternity
Of dust
A man in a sweet shop chooses
From a menu online.
The sweets are divine
The website says
So no-one loses.
The candy arrives
In pretty bows
And wrapping
Fragile as flowers.
He knows
How it goes:
The tapping of heels
Bring deals
Of sugar sweet
He can’t keep,
While the website
Offers fleeting delights
Of fresh flowers
He takes,
But his thirst
Remains unslaked
