Evanescence

No ornament can add to what you are,
The sum of beauty, cynosure to all,
Nor can comparison provide your par,
When finest fancy cannot fail to pall.

Yet time will vent its ire as in the course
Of waning of the wordly powers of Earth,
Whose dominance must lose its vital force
And leave to others space to stage their birth.

Beauties who hold sway all share the common plight
That there's no gain against time's rule to cry
Rebellion vain, for that would mirror quite
The golden globe that holds in thrall the sky.

Beauty's perfection imitates the Sun,
Whose might is sovereign, yet whose day must run.

Laws and hopes

 After lightning's play, thunder rolls applause -
 Certainty prevails touching nature's laws.

 Even so the heart longs its home to find
 In a place secure, nestled with its kind.

Young and old

One day, I spoke to young and asked her who she thought she was,
And young spoke up with boldness of her plans to change the world.

And then I turned to old and asked her who she thought she was,
And old replied with gladness of  what once, back then, had been.

And then I saw how old had taken young upon her knee
To say that old is what all young - with luck - will one day be.

The natural history of cats

All ginger cats are prone to make one doubt
That cats, as such, are really what they seem.
By day, they move with stealth and prowl about.
By night, it's thought, they haunt with eyes agleam.
And yet the gamut of their lives, we know,
Excludes their actions when beyond our ken.

Our progress in this question is so slow
As renders it but crass conjecture when
We postulate, against the sober facts,
That gingers must exist when they're not seen.
There's nothing cogent here which contradicts
What everyone from history can glean:

Egyptian cats are like their god of old,
Who died come night, and was reborn with day.
So, when it comes to gingers, we've been sold
The lie that when they're not around - they're just at play!

It follows, then, that all cats must enjoy
Recycled life which no force can confine -
Thay's why they have the the habit to employ
 A haughty mien - their lives are more than nine!

The cat that met me

A ginger tom cat cut across my way
And ran to greet me in a rush of fur.
With great delight, I saw he'd come to play
And show his friendship with a winning purr.

To my surprise, he then began to squeeze
Figures of eight between my unclad pins
In silky movements, done with perfect ease
And complemented with sly feline grins.

His bearing had the manner of a king,
Replete with gracious gestures he bestowed -
I realized it had been no small thing
To learn to dance with ginger a la mode!

Darla's duty dawns

Now doughty Darla has a pressing task -
To care for baby in her daily round;
There's nothing that can be too much to ask
To keep sweet Ella safe in peace profound.

Who is this newborn, helpless source of joy
So dearly loved by all who Darla knows?
She plainly needs the skills dogs can employ
In guarding innocents from hurtful blows.

And Darla is the perfect exemplar
Of how to keep all harm at bay -
Her gaze ensures that danger, near or far,
Is banished from the scene of Ella's play.

Each day, when it's required, she's on patrol
Around the boundary, to her so clear,
That marks the space in need of her control
To safeguard Ella from distress or fear.

And should there be occasion to alert
The house to dangers threatening her charge,
She will be ever ready to divert
Them through her efforts, whether small or large.

Times to relish

Oh, let there be those days most asked for -
Those days of carefree children's laughter,
Well spent in tumbling hours of joy
Till grownups must their will deploy,
And sleep her potent charm employ
Once drowsy playmates fold their arms,
Then eyelids close to life's alarms.

Lucklessly enamoured

That lack in me that is the lack of you
Remains as yet a wound that fails to be
Attended by its perpetrator, who,
For lack of motive, finds no crime to see.

Had you been conscious of your unknown part,
Would you have salved the hurt of unmeant pain,
Dear thief and only owner of my heart,
Which hopes from you sweet solace to obtain?

Yet I myself would be as guilty, too,
Should I attempt to force my suit on you,
Whose felony is being unaware
Of what was no concern to someone free
To be enclosed in love's embrace elsewhere,
Evading trial for bringing trial to me.

Ambition

You tell me that I love you with your smile,
Although, to you, there's no such tale to tell
What would I give to let you know the while
That I have spent, enamoured, in your spell!

With magic and with mystery on call,
You bring to mind the music of the spheres
Of heaven's realm, where arcane marvels all
Conspire to govern more than what appears.

The harmonies your tresses wake in me
When breezes blow bring gladness out of time,
And I could wish you were disposed to see
The way in which we with each other chime.

Should you, with grace unearned, accept my love
Earth's globe, as bell, would not exult enough.

Accommodation

Perfection crass should be allowed no part
In acting bully to deny the play
Of healthy harmony of head and heart
That feeds the music of love's deathless lay.

Togetherness of compromise will fare
Most well when founded, as a rounded whole,
On that good will, a prize beyond compare,
That issues from the wellsprings of the soul.

Togetherness of purpose bonds in one,
Amid the reefs the seas of life hold hid,
Those seeking passage as the waters run
Towards the dangers of which none are rid.

Tempests have blown which caused the Earth to move,
None have been known which stayed the power of love.

Winter hills

The annual cycle brings the winter snow,
Which lends the hills allure to human eyes
That, having marvelled at the summer deer
Beneath the sheltering trees, now hope to spy
Them once again when clothed in winter garb.

The exploration starts in modest guise -
A startled squirrel leaping from the road
In swift evasion of our dread approach.
The journey satisfies with charming views
And yields a plump red robin on a verge,
A pheasant, all indifference as we pass,
But nothing to betray the deer, our prey.
Then, some way distant, sits a buzzard bold,
Stock still upon a tree's dead, leafless branch,
And seems to grant us leave to stop and look
As she with gimlet gaze the ground surveys,
Then softly opens, spreads and flaps her wings,
Revealing undersides adorned in white,
On her short flight to find a better perch.

This sighting is surpassed upon a ridge
Where we are greeted by the happy chance
To watch a hunting kite on his patrol.
How long has he been quartering the slope,
As he does now, continuing to plane
And soar on patient wings, first glinting red
Against the pale blue sky, then dipping down
To blend into the matching-colored wood,
Flapping but twice to rise and wheel around,
Scanning the hill, dropping below its brow,
Rising again to recapitulate
His graceful feeding cycle, key to life,
Then peeling fast away toward the dale,
Abandoning the half-snowed, steep-banked field,

Our way leads onward through a tousled tract
Where bare-boned bushes look like coral fans
And hamlets nestle snuggly where the eye
Picks out the destination of the road.
But now the sight of walkers, boys on sleds,
Discourages insistence on our hope,
And we head homeward from the dearth of deer,
Resolved to meet them in some new attempt.

But as the road ascends and traffic glides
At unaccustomed snail pace on the ice,
Two deer appear, intent to take their course
Accross our path. The larger charges out,
Is over in a flash while wheels are braked,
And, in her mute alarm from yards away,
Reproaches us for venturing too close
And pines for her companion left behind.

A kitten's contribution

A tiny kitten in a ball
Evokes deep sighs of gladness from us all.
How sweetly does she touch a tender vein,
In some deep buried, but in others plain,
And come in playful mood when once awake
To entertain us humans for her sake.

Carpe diem

When first I met enchantment in the grace
Which shone upon me when I caught your gaze
And, marvelling at the music of your voice,
Denied my heart its right of sovereign choice,
I wondered at the confluence of choice
That had produced you in its random dance.

How many aeons long without our kind
Did evolution prosper without mind,
Experimenting blindly without plan
Until the brief appearance of our clan?
How many aeons more would then expire
To bring us to the point where we aspire
To step outside the sphere by nature bound
And venture to a place as yet unfound?

For us, whose tiny portion we may wrest
And hold a generation long, at best,
There is no other option than to strive
To fabricate, whatever fate contrive,
A life of harmony which sweetness casts
Amid eternity, which ever lasts.

Though all of time was thus required for this
To bring us to the state that now we share,
Its course is stopped for us in endless bliss
Should we but find the fortitude to dare.

Mortality

All creatures suffer their allotted doom
No matter where their paths of life may wind;
Blown petals signify a dying bloom -
The Earth to which they fall renews their kind.

Universal steps

Oh happy days of unbound youth
Among the uplands of the soul,
When tenderness and honest truth
Made up the content of the whole.

Remembrance sweet calls back to mind
Rapt days of gladness as a child
When consciousness of youthful kind
Was occupied with fancies wild.

Imagination took to flight
And conjured wonders into life,
And when the day turned into night
Dreams brought adventure full of strife.

The senses woke to all around
And found a world of depth and breadth,
Of wafting smells and sight and sound,
A world which changed with every breath.

With play and laughter then the mind
Would seek how best to understand
The world  and, in so doing, find
A base on which to take firm stand.

And oh the heart, the heart that beat
In faster rhythm when the ear
Took notice of those skipping feet
Announcing that fond love drew near.

A love of innocence and charm
Replete with joy, devoid of fears,
Between two children, arm in arm,
Who roamed the fields of yester years.

Years which were destined to include
The growth of self to adulthood
Through nascent longings that portend
The coming storm of childhood's end.

Parameters of love

The provenance of love is not devined,
The governance of love is ill-defined,
The exigence of love is deep enshrined
Within the core of heart and soul and mind,
Yet often is it hid and hard to find,
And, lacking its involvment, all are blind.

Two kittens cuddly kind*

For two who failed to call to mind
A  day of such a unique kind,
Neglecting wholly to remind
Each other of the ties that bind -

We kittens full of jollity
Have come to join your company,
And in good faith we guarantee
To cheer your anniversary!

*From two kittens on a late-remembered anniversary card

A fox to cherish

Across a scarcity of yards
A fox's brush, protruding, shows
A danger lurks within the bush -
But guile and grace and beauty, too:
The guile that he employs with style
The grace that marks his supple form,
The beauty that suffuses all.

What colour can outmatch his rust,
What speeding gait outdo his trot?
No eagle's gimlet gaze outshines
The impish twinkle in his eye.

The fox lacks stature to command,
His numbers cannot overwhelm,
But in his solitary sphere
He reigns supreme in handsomeness.

Fox lore

A fox who has it in his mind
To find a snack of any kind
Will come upon it from behind -
That's how he's always wined and dined.

The creature of a russet hue
Will do just what he has to do
To gather up what is his due,
By taking what belongs to you!

That's why it's useless to persist
In hoping somehow he'll desist -
It is his nature to insist,
For foxes prosper where they list.

Polar panic

As far as I can see,
All polar bears should be
As far away from me
As polar bears can be.

That way, it's very clear,
There is no need to fear
They may draw up so near
As to consume me here!

Birthday girl

Now Ellie's forging on ahead,
Exploring life from A to Z.
A new voice sounds amid the old,
A dear soprano joins the fold,
And soon fond melodies will fall
On ears for which they'll never pall.

So is it with each birthday new
For one so young with much to do,
And memories of golden days
Will form as little Ellie plays.

Time in three acts

The past is ever with us, but the future never so,
The present, as the vital link, completes the three-fold way
On which we all must navigate and shelter as we go,
Creating past from present while the future stands at bay.

We cannot know our progeny past generations four,
Nor trick sly time to ruminate upon what will have been.
Whatever may be possible, there can exist no door
To open and expose to view what has not yet been seen.

Regardless of what may be learned, or of what light is shone,
The future must remain a sphere where none before have gone.

In desert climes

Where deserts bake in broiling heat without a welcome storm,
The denizens who call it home obey a double rule:
Some, waking to the welcome Sun, expose fhemselves, to warm,
While others shun his presence, and seek shelter where it's cool.

The first are those of scaly composition, who must catch
The daily dose of solar rays by which they will survive,
The second - those of fur, whose need that other does not match,
For, come the day, they must avoid the heat to stay alive.

And yet they all may interact beneath the globe that burns
By taking or preserving life upon the globe that turns.

Unconscious parrot

The parrot's unaware his plumage vies
To win the palm, be lauded to the skies,
Defying, as he does, the painter's eye
To capture all its splendours where they lie.

The pride presumed to swell his feathered breast
Resides, in truth, in humans much impressed,
Whereas, among his avian brethern set,
His statenment is with recognition met.

Whenever he displays his finery
He shows himself as he is meant to be -
His soul mate will descry the one she knows
When perched upon the treetops, where he glows.

Donkey

The donkey, we are all agreed,
Is held to be no Einstein bred
And thought to be no match for steed
With valid claim to thoroughbred.

The donkey's ears are far too large
To grace his presence handsomely,
And when he calls his voice takes charge
And sounds uncouth, not winsomely.

Consider, though, that through his ears
Your donkey hears just where you are,
And when he talks he stills your fears
And  marks his spot, however far.

This is his way to show how much
He misses you and yearns your touch.

To Ellie at Christmas*

To darling Ellie come these wishes dear
From far away across the many miles,
For in our hearts you always will be near,
Enchanting creature of a thousand smiles!

Merry Christmas, heart of gold,
Nestling in your family fold -
We thank you for your card so sweet,
Our greatest treasure till we meet.

* On the occasion of receiving a first Xmas card from Ellie, aged three

Rambling for life

Walking on the Cornish path
Really makes you need a bath.

Always going up and down
Renders ramblers very brown.

Finding each new B & B
Is a chore, but - let's agree -
They are needed for the rest
That results in trekking best.

So, then,ever onward go,
Step by step the miles will flow.

Happy  wandering never ends-
Every pathway has new bends.

Reunion

Dear friends, how happy is this day of May
On which we once again become those four
Of old, who rambled through the woods of youth,
Companions in the journey that is life.

While changes there have been in measure full,
The spirit of rapport remains undimmed.
The conversation sparkles as before,
And old concerns reverberate anew
As novel topics jostle  for their place.

And so the  time that's passed since we were four
Seems but an interlude between two acts
Which presage others in a drama, that
Will tell the future as it told the past.    

Solace and strength

In which firm promise given could there be
Assurance of reliability?

In which warm haven could I find repose
In sheltered refuge from the gale that blows?

In which impregnable, unbowed  redout
Would I be safe against the foe without?

In which untaken fortress on the hill
Could I deny the enemy his will?

In what strong bastion, fashioned to repulse
Would I survive while ill all else engulfs?

In these, or others, would what's dire yield space?
In none - were I not in your dear embrace!

Computation of love

Were life amenable to calculation
And subject to arithmetic's approach,
Then all would find the perfect permutation
To match the proper horse to needy coach.

If harmony of head and heart were nought
But tally of the two, done weight by weight,
Then lovers in their dealings never ought
To stumble on their path, or trouble fate.

Such mathematics would commend itself
To one who finds the counting of love's truth
More daunting than the calculus of wealth,
And falters when his worth is not enough.

Yet remedy there is, for love construes
An abacus that fashions ones from twos.