Sunday, August 31, 2014

Tree-wind and shore-wave

In absence of you
Reminders ensue:
The wind in the trees,
The rustle of leaves
Beguiling the ear
Insist you are near.

The waves on the shore
Well trodden before
Awaken a past
Imprinted to last.

Though leaves may fall still
When wind loses will.
Still water will flow,
As centuries know,
To solace the mind
With memories kind.

Transformation

In Whitstable there is a place
Which has been lent a winsome face
By application of that flair
Required to bring a lightsome air
Where once an outworn ambience
Restricted carefree dalliance.
The garden, partly hid before,
Now blows beyond a picture door,
While through the glass the sky's commanding azure
Commends the change from minor key to major.

Friday, August 8, 2014

Hard to burr

A bear in a bush felt a burr
Presuming to stick in his fur.
His ursine composure went "phut!"
And outward he crashed with his butt,
Acquiring - no need to ask where -
Attachments abhorrent to bear.

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Seasons' dance

Close by the garden wall one butterfly
Flutters half-heartedly into the blue
Now fading from its depth of summer hue
As autumn, duly coming, brings its sly
Replacements of white nights and balmy breeze,
Trips with new steps into the seasons' dance,
Which sometimes may dissemble, look like chance,
Though purposefully set to strip the trees,
Iconically marking what must be
As long as Earth and Sun keep company.

Vital urge

A late-night storm. I hear a fly arrive,
Half waking me in panic to survive.
Drowsy, I trudge alone where once we walked,
Keeping now silent council where we talked.

Sleep intervenes, the vision loses force,
But deep within the muse pursues her course.
Man slips into the world from mother's womb
And exits willy-nilly to the tomb.

Though life be short, art ventures to be long,
Crafting a legacy to spite the storm,
Daring throughout the ages to perform
The ceaseless task to keep the spirit strong.

Young man limerick

There was a young man who hoped, madly,
 He'd meet a young lady who'd gladly
 Devote her whole life
 To being his wife
 Without it all ending up badly.

Holding, and lingering, on

Leaving behind what cannot come along,
Trusting to memory to guard her own,
Yet still the while to celebrate through song
And fashion for the past a fitting home -

So grief discovers what is willed to live
In recognition of a lucky two
Who found the secret of the way to give
And won a prize enjoyed by all too few.