I have not thrown away
That which you gave me the other day.
A worthless thing perhaps,
Yet hope takes time to collapse.
Maybe tomorrow
With a twinge of sorrow
It will be thrown away.
Or, like a coward
I shall put it in a drawer
Where it shall be seen no more
Save only by me,
Though ’tis better to be free
Of both it and thee.
Tag Archives: friendship
Sometimes You Have To
Sometimes you have to
Say what is true
Although you know
That it may be the end
Of a friend
Or a love affair.
You should take great care
What you do
But sometimes you have to
Say what is true
Though it hurts
Both them and you.
Too Much Thinking
You left me alone
At the top of the street,
And I went home
While your feet,
Encased in shoes
You did not choose
To lose
Took you back
Down your own track.
Or perhaps I lack
The ability to understand
Your hug and hand.
Now I wait
And ponder on sense
And the present,
Or the past tense.
Is it too late?
A pointless question to state
Perhaps.
To collapse
Into meloncholy
Is folly.
I have a choice
To be morose
Or falsely jolly.
‘Tis better to use my voice
And ask than to drown
My frown
In a glass
Over a lass
Who may
Not think of me that way.
Lover or friend?
‘Tis better to know, than to pretend.
There Are Many Ointments
There are many ointments
For stings
And similar things.
And, for life’s disappointments
There is art,
Which, though it may not cause the heart
To sing
May, perchance, ease the sting
Of the she
Who rejects thee.
Good Night
All agree
That a gentleman will offer coffee
Or tea,
And that he
Will hold open the door, and say,
“good night”
In a gentlemanly way,
And watch her sweet face
Enter the embrace
Of the sultry night.
You Followed Me
You followed me into the bedroom
Bringing with you
The merest hint of perfume.
You stood there
Wholly unaware,
Chatting of what? I do not recollect.
Slim and near.
Respect for a long friendship held me
tight.
Or maybe
Fear.
I did not speak that night.
Colours Converge
Colours converge
And the black does merge
With the white.
The night
Is sweet
And colours greet
In starlight.
In This Forest Glade
In this forest glade
I think on the shade.
All mens desires
For women and empires
Fade.
The shout
Of the brave
Is lost in the grave.
And all fires burn out
In the end,
Be they lover or friend.
Are You Still Writing?
Are you still writing? I have lost count of the number of occasions on which this question has been asked of me.
My response to anyone posing the above question is always an emphatic “yes”. For me writing is an integral part of who I am. It constitutes self-expression. I could no more give up composing poetry than I could abandon an old and dear friend. At times friends can be irritating. We disagree and even argue, but true friendship survives such disagreements. Likewise, with my writing I sometimes find myself becoming frustrated. I swear at my computer (I never swear at my friends I must hasten to add)! – and close Microsoft Word in disgust. However while I do abandon specific poems I can never envisage giving up my writing.
Writing is, for me, an itch that must be scratched. While on my way into the office or walking in beautiful places, the germ of a poem often develops in my brain. I feel restless until I’m able to get it down on virtual paper (all my writing takes place on my laptops).
Writing is both pleasure and pain. The frustration of sitting at a computer for hours, only to throw away what I have been working on, is balanced by the pleasure of producing a poem which is (in my opinion) worthy of seeing the light of day via this blog and, perhaps also (ultimately) to find itself within the leaves of a book.
So when people ask “are you still writing?” I shall continue to answer with an emphatic “yes”.
Scattered
Trees by Strong winds battered.
Leaves descend
And lie
Scattered,
And I
Think on Friendships end