On receiving a poet's notebook

You, little book, will serve me as an aid
And be a dear companion on the way
To help me understand how poems are made
And how word after word can sweetly play.

Though small in size, you fill the leading role,
Being a gift that shows a caring heart.
Your mission, first, is aptly to extol
The bonds that hold together those apart

Through circumstance of distance or of time,
Regardless whether willed, or wrought by chance;
While, second, you bring elements to chime
That otherwise would scarce deserve a glance.

So, with your readiness in paying heed,
You bring fruition to creative need.

Possum in the garden

A possum is a seldom one to see
In fading light, snug in a garden tree.
Her habit is to keep remote and shy.
Removed, secluded, from the prying eye.

So why this charming visit by the spa,
When, as she knows, she should be stationed far
Off on a forest branch, where no-one calls,
Or, if they do, retire when darkness falls?

But in the garden, poolside, lights ablaze
Have picked her out where all have turned their gaze.
So now she shines forth in a human scene
And condescends to linger, like a queen,
Till barking undermines her regal poise
And, with disdain, she takes her leave of noise.

She's everywhere!

She comes with wishes from the heart,
Cute Darla of the West,
And we no longer are apart,
Thanks to her joyful zest.

How far the sparkle in her eyes
Releaves the the weather's gloom,
And how the glamour of her guise
Now captivates the room

Where, with her festive merriment,
She twinkles to enchant
And exercises her intent
To woof - for others can't.

Richness shared

Gold ore is rich, and richer once made pure.
Then he who finds such wealth has cause to smile -
Its value is assured and will endure
Though other assets may decline the while.

True love is also based on hidden wealth,
But does not need to be unearthed to shine.
Its worth is not exclusive, won by stealth,
For of its essence love is yours and mine.

Etiquette in ardour

A scorpion must woo his mate with care
And make his play to neutralise the sting
That otherwise she may well bring to bear
And terminate his amatory fling.

Though lacking any weapons on display,
We humans, too, perform a special dance
And, in the rough and tumble of the fray,
We brandish words which further our advance.

The acme of success in this would be
To hear you cry surrender with your smile,
Or that by my demeanour you would see
This plea, which harbours neither feint nor guile:

That you of me should know, and mark it well -
Within me love for none but you can dwell.

Spider woe

Black spider on the wall,
The largest of them all
That we had ever seen,
Or that has ever been.

How rapid was your climb,
With footsteps so sublime
Diminishing the ground
From you to our surround!

Eight legs, it's very clear,
Were good for drawing near.
In bed we had to wait
The outcome of your gait.

Would hairy nemesis
Disturb our night of bliss
Or was there some hope yet
That you might drop the threat?

Such tremblings over chance
You prompted with your dance
But all was put to right
When then you stopped in sight.

No longer did we peep,
But turned instead to sleep,
And by the morning light
You had retired from sight.

Spider on my computer

Oh, tiny spider, junior to a fly,
Marooned within the confines of the screen
Of my computer - what, pray, was the why
That brought you where you never should have been?
Three hours at least you circled round and round
The edge that marked my monitor's extent,
And all the while you laboured in profound
Despair of making good your set intent
To find firm landing on familiar ground.

But when you ventured to the topmost rim
Your legs, a semaphore of hopelessness,
Brought home to me your situation grim
And prompted in me pangs of tenderness.
So then I took you down and set you free
With relish in the change you wrought in me.
I felt revulsion deep within abate
Though yet the total of your legs was eight.

Queen of the Scrabble board

Right at the pinacle of wordy power
You sit and weigh your judgement hour by hour.
Who can forget those tussles in the past
When at the Scrabble board all were aghast
To see the heights to which Krystyna soared
No matter how the the others wailed and pored
Long,vainly over books of words, until
Inevitably bowing to your will
As sovereign lady versed in verbal skill
Whose rule is ever absolute, entire
And forces those less gifted to retire?
Against such proud display of awesome might
No player save a genius would fight

How to proceed

I had a vision of a place of grace
In which peace prospered and all war had ceased
And time, it seemed, had paused to gather strength
To free eternity from human strife,
And, as I gazed upon the prospect dear,
I heard a rising strain of harmony
Begin to banish dissonanace from Earth
By stirring in the souls of humankind
Commitment to the cause of life as one.

Snapshot of our present Earth

Prime source of all life, the Sun
Yet is not the only one -
Our globe, too, has heat to give
Which  determines we may live.

Earth, by molten iron warmed,
Creaks to have its surface stormed,
Split and set adrift by force,
Prelude to a fateful course
Leading to the transient mix
Of our continental six,
Vibrant  with the pulse of life
Based upon attendant strife.

Tectonic shifts, like a tide,
Move the continents aside,
Those that are familiar now
Owe their nature to the flow
Underneath their solid crust,
Which transports them where they must,
While, upon their changing face,
They support the human race.

Africa, compact yet vast,
Once believed in darkness cast,
Now revealed as man's first home
Whence his footsteps far would roam.

Asia, peopled fit to burst,
Prone to hunger, plague and thirst,
In the future scheme of things
Likely to unfold her wings.
In her South - the Indic land,
Battling waves on either hand,
Proffers home to ancient creeds
Catering to soul-felt needs.
.
Europe, finger-fringed around,
Gashed by myriad bays profound -
Long a springboard to the world,
From whose heartlands raids were hurled.

Then America the New,
All but neatly cut in two,
Stretching almost Pole to Pole,
Longest continent  of all.

And Australia, cast away
Where the southern breakers play -
Guardian of a wondrous reef
Wild and rich beyond belief.

Last, Antarctica the Cold,
Frozen land of mountains bold,
Fringed by ice shelves that disgorge
Floating mounds where penguins hide
Safe from danger rife elsewhere
In the seas that they must dare.


Now we prosper as we are,
While not knowing just how far
Future generations can
Stabilize the life of man
Perched upon a whirling ball
Where extinction yet may call.

Little by little

The shaddows that reflect an evening life
Are other than when youth was at its height -
Stood high the Sun or bade farewell.
For then the untried back was firm and strong
And used sky's orb to cast its outline proud,
Whereas a weakened posture tells a tale,
When thrown upon the ground by ruthless ray
Which, without malice, shows a sorry shape.

This is the certain lot of all to tell,
Though narratives will differ one by one -
So life devotes itself to what it can
And leaves its passage hence to certain fate.

The arc of life

Though time amidst the stars was brief, it shone
With superstellar brightness of its own.
Each day was seized upon the very dawn,
Its length filled full of life till it had flown.

With every breath the wind pursues its way,
Which likens to the journey that we share,
In puffs or raging blasts it yields its sway,
While we attempt to grasp the why and where

Of mastery of fate, though there be none -
Yet none, that is, unless a legacy
Remain to mark each sojourn round the Sun
And speak forever to eternity.

Lend me your hand, in keeping, to the end -
Your loving grasp gives me the strength to fend.

African night

Come -  as with your fall the day before -
Night, through which the hunted may endure;
Cause a swift extinction of the light,
Spreading, as you thicken, fear and fright
Over Africa, on whose broad plain
Strength is master and the weak are slain.

Herbivores that feed upon the veldt
Shudder as each threatening roar is felt.
Predators from every side deploy
Senses that their prey do not enjoy -
Piercing vision in the velvet black,
Peerless hearing tuned to swift attack,
Readiness to wield a lethal nose,
Given wind that favors when it blows.

Straining to detect what lurks around,
Anxious ears pick up the slightest sound,
Nothing, though, that of itself makes clear
Whether danger is remote or near.
Lack of clarity concerning place
Lends supremacy to those who chase.

Lift again your cloak of darkness, Night -
Grant the hunted leave to take to flight!

Sentiment and lore of love

Throughout the time of my infatuation
I felt as though I knew my way, as if
I need not entertain the least suspicion
Of having reached the margin of a cliff

Careering steeply down to vile perdition
To leave the soul adrift amidst the mire
And  rob the doubting self of all volition,
Subdue  affection's sway to base desire.

How strongly did conviction cloud  my vision,
Prevent the inward eye's acuity
From seeing in the mist a false division
That wrongly raised a bar to unity.

But now a candid heart has waked true passion,
I tread the realm of love in other fashion.

Rock nostalgia unbound - uh-huh, it's the Manfreds

Onto the darkened stage the band has crept,
The audtorium responds with claps
At first like raindrops, becoming swelling tide
As footlights show a seven from the past
Who now return to visit and reclaim
Their glory time of status as Rock Gods.
So hits of yesteryears are lovingly
Replayed - on stage and in the ardent hearts
Of listeners relocated to a time
And place of youthful joys and nascent hopes.
Hit follows hit, memories are revived,
The present seems but shadow of a past
Which, reawakened, casts a vibrant glow
Of pleasure unalloyed with daily cares.

Such were the days of timeless rock and dance ,
Devoted to the present, while as yet
The veil around the future was undrawn,
Which now are days reborn before our eyes
And thundered in our ears to bring the feet
To tapping and the dancers to the floor,
And all the fun and fury of the past
Delight  the present and defy decay.  

Equinox and sunlit hills

The equinox in fairness with it brings
An equal length to each of night and day.
No preference is given, none received,
And for this while extremes are kept at bay.

No such approach adopts the brazen Sun,
Who now proceeds to fill with warmth each hour
And casts around without restraint his light
Revealing summer's wealth in leaf and flower.

Beneath our wheels the rolling Cotswold hills
Show first a winding lane and then a crown
Of woods atop a summit that now swoops
Towards the vale where nestles Evesham town.

But equinox is calling end to day
And bids us turn at Broadway after tea.
The darkling sky announces autumn's sway,
Bequeathing only twilight time to see.

Mediterranean Odyssey

Great Middle Sea, home of restless wave and fire
Between three continents, whose constant urge
To close together in a rocky vice
And swallow down your content in a gulp,
Will never cease until the time has come
When all the lineaments you own have gone.

What are the the elements that give you shape?
Two basins split by one long leg of land,
Two far peninsulas at either end
And, all around and in between reserved,
The vital bounty of your watery wealth
Whose final confine is the quickened shore
Of Africa, advancing as a wall.

And other walls, great Sea, your shores and
Litorals have borne, indeed, which shaped
Your human past and nurtured in their shelter
Mighty movements round the globe -
Far flung from your abode, and yet your brood -
The walls of cities destined to provide
Each its heritage to humankind.
And now these cities, antique or more new,
Themselves, instead, are turned to cynosure.

The fleets that once upanchored from their gates
To destinations new, in truth unknown,
Have been replaced  by countless pleasure craft
From distant points, carriages of eager
Voyagers, intending now to make their own
Acquaintance on the spot with what they know
Has fashioned in large part their own domains.
And, in this interchange of past and now,
Participants who ventured forth avow
Commitment to the provenance they share,
And carry back a treasured memory
To leaven recollection's waning sway.

Within the shared embrace of culture's trace
The passengers all vary in their state:
Some journey to fulfil a lifetime's dream,
Or to please a partner, or to mend a seam,
While some, a goodly portion, full of hope,
Nurse tender notions of romantic scope.

And, when the cruise ship docks, all such depart
Upon an exploration of the heart.

The scales of life

Upon a bobbing rose a butterfly
Alights. Is she in search of respite from
A raging wind that we esteem a breeze,
Soft airs of summer in a gentle dance?
Or is instead her sole imperative
To launch herself aloft upon the wind
And profit from the widening of her range?

So does the butterfly promote her kind,
Responsive to the vagaries of chance,
And for all other life it is just so -
The cosmic scales condition what may live,
The sizes that will fit the habitat.

Transgressions of established paradigms
Will bring condign perdition in their wake -
But should the habitat become outgrown,
From want of substance or longevity,
The scale must be upgraded to the need,
And life transferred entire to prospects new
Which may entail our most momentous find:
Are we the sole examples of our kind
Or are our equals somewhere to be found,
Elsewhere, elsewhen, extinct or still extant?  

 

Times of grace

When sleep made good its claim I found again
The hill of dreams that first I climbed and topped
When youth was my estate, and childhood past,
And manhood still had not imposed its cares.
What was to come remained as yet unknown,
And no direction ruled by preference.

How slowly flowed the course of ample time,
How quickly moved the pulse from rest to haste!
Years were encompassed in a summer's breadth
And nought was preordained save endless joy.

But then the even tenor was upset,
The fateful choices clamoured to be made,
And what was left of that once timeless space
Were memories recalling times of grace.

The ever-present past

What time we have to spend together now
Calls us to fond remembrance of our past,
Of golden days well burnished by the Sun,
Of languid nights beneath the silver Moon
When skipping breezes, rustling, stirred your hair
And waked our youthful natures to desire,
So gazes turned from heaven to rapt eyes
Where depths of passion welled in mutual trust,
And hearts became entwined in faithful love.