Tag Archives: traditions

Shorn

Does the grandfather clock’s pendulum
Still, with measured swing
A sense of order bring
To that country place
Where a mantion’s stately grace,
Brought peace,
For a while at least.

I would resile
This urban life
Of strife,
And solace take
In the birds who awake
At morn.

We are from tradition torn,
And shorn
Of a sense of the past
Wander in a vast
Whirlpool
Where the sleepless screen does rule
And institutions are thrown away
For they belong to yesterday.

New Year’s Eve

Cold hands.
Man stands
Gazing into the abyss
Of bliss.
The rain drums.
2016 comes
Ever near.
The new year.
Think?
Lost in drink.
The link
Is broken
The door no longer open
To admit the old.
The young and bold
Hold
The future, or so they say
And the old year ebbs away.

The Pub

A noisey pub, full of beer, people drinking, be of good cheer.

Saloon bar bore, full of self,, whittering inanely to himself. He’s an opinion on everything, the news of the day, cares not a jot what others have to say.

Judges and brickies, all life is here, all drawn to the pub by what else but beer!

 

Sounds borne on the wings of night

Sounds are incredibly evocative. My home is some 25 minutes walk from several train stations. Occasionally, when the wind is in the right direction and most often at the dead of night when the traffic has ceased I hear the whistle of a train. It is a mournful sound which induces in me feelings of sadness. I am not sure why this should be the case. Perhaps it flows from my perception that there is something about the sound, in and of itself which is evocative of sadness. The speed of the train also reminds me that life is passing by rapidly, we are here now but very soon, like the speeding night train we will be lost in the darkness which for me is symbolic of death.

At other times I hear the hooting of an owl as he hunts in the park next to my home. It is an erie sound which has, in many different cultures been associated with bad luck or death. In Macbeth it is the bird of ill omen which portends the death of Duncan

Lady Macbeth: ”hark! Peace! It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman,

Which gives the stern’st good-night”.

Whenever I hear the cry of an owl it is of lady Macbeth’s words that I think. However, having said that I love listening to the owl as he hunts for his prey. I can stand for long periods by my open window harkening to his call.

Some sounds produce feelings of rest and contentment. I love listening to the sound of running water. It is hypnotic and soothes me when I feel tired or stressed.

Of course the lack of sound can be wonderful. To sit in tranquillity reading or just relaxing is very necessary to the human spirit.