A million capillary thoughts.

FLIGHT

They gazed into the fire, their essence merged with the dancing flame,

They rose in a spark, drifted on the night wind,

Joined for a moment in the frenzied gyrations of a bonfire.

Onward, then paused, at the acrid smell of a burning warehouse.

Travelled, seeking their like in the blue glow of Marsh light.

Tarried a while, by grumbling volcano and hissing geyser.

Were bruised by the raw power of an electrical storm.

Pranced in the heat waves of a sun burnt desert.

Called to the flickering oil lamps of a village preparing to sleep,

Recoiled from the muddled essence of dreaming men.

Strove upwards and outwards to the light of the stars,

In this forbidden act, fell back, back to the waiting bodies.

Those who had exiled them showed compassion.

Only that once would they know their loss.

Guess that they were other than earth bound children.

DREAMS

Of what do you dream my little one,

Blue bunny rabbit; green teddy bear;

Huge orange flower's gleam in the sun;

Bright picture book laid on a red chair?

When do our bright dreams all start to fade?

What in our growing colours subdue?

Where in our life is stored the pale shade?

May that sad loss not happen to you.

A CHILD'S SMILE

Each child is great diversity,

Each a complexity of wiles.

The thing most beautiful to watch,

Are its many different smiles.

The smile that follows childish storm,

The hurt and rage that's cried aloud,

When coaxed by mother's loving kiss,

Comes peeping as a sun from cloud.

To watch a clown is sheer delight,

His antics please both young and old.

Child's gleeful smile then rocks itself,

Whole mirthful being is involved.

With crashing fireworks on high,

Smile of fear then joyed relief.

Awed smile for fairy on bright tree,

Can hold no room for unbelief.

The dimpling cheeks the quirking mouth,

The stars in eyes when mischief bent,

Curled kitten look of drowsy child,

The sleepy smile of sheer content.

FEVER AND THEN

Pictures on closed eyelids forming,

Sharp detailed stills, then surging

Flowing, like a child's painting

One into another wetly merging.

Pictures here but mostly thoughts,

Huge ideas, vast and all embracing.

One strong simple artery from which

A million capillary thoughts are racing.

Now the pen held with fretful weakness,

Is a useless tool to try and catch,

The pictures and thoughts that have fled away,

Curing the fever was dropping the latch.

THE COLOURS ON MY PALATE

Scarlet tang of citrus fruits of lemon and lime,

Murky brown of medicine culled from childhood time.

Subtly changing blues of herbs, marjoram and thyme.

Warm orange glow of spices Brought from eastern clime.

My tongue can catch the colours and taste the rainbow shine.

BREAKFAST VISION

(AFTER A RESTLESS NIGHT)

Dreary and weary sight,

Glazed at morning's seeing

Within a silver teapot

Strange and awful being.

Sugar bowl and milk jug,

A squat familiar pair,

Becomes as Grecian urns,

But with distorted flare.

With unnatural angle,

Formed of cigar shaped swerve,

A plate is now a thing,

To try the strongest nerve.

Coloured bright yet hazy,

Foreshortened human form,

Hair hidden ovoid blob

Completes this shape made storm.

Surrealistic art.

A nightmare of the day,

Wrought in silver image,

Holds fascinating sway.

WINTER SERVICE

Well scrubbed faces pinched with cold.

Quietly less the master scold,

Through the lych gate 'neath the arch,

Two by two the choirboys march.

A scuffle here a giggle there,

While discarding outdoor wear,

Mindful of the master's frown,

Quickly don the ruff and gown.

Up the aisle at careful pace,

Hands together, solemn face.

Golden voices raised in song,

Pray the sermon's not too long.

Service over, duty done,

Young minds turn to winter fun,

Asking each just who would dare,

To throw a snowball in the air.

THE PURCHASED SPOUSE

Dew, in falling, promises

Sparkled sunlight at the dawn.

In freezing becomes a whore.

Delights that should not be bought,

When paid for, bring like hoar frost

Cold disappointment, no more.

WHIMSICAL THOUGHT ON THE GARDENER

A wind swept soggy piece of clay,

Where rubbish swirled as if in play,

I saw my piece of land,

With aching back but loving heart,

I did with all the gardener's art,

Transform that piece of land.

I was by nature always meant,

To be of easy placid bent,

Until I had that land.

Then came a most unnatural rage,

For things of any shape or age,

That came upon my land.

For wind or frost, for cat or dog,

For insect, bird, or blackening fog,

That marred my garden land.

It's odd how nature can inspire,

Both love so great and hate so dire,

In one who tends some land.

PER – CH – SPECTIVE

Should we really be hard

On the old crocodile?

For it has to be said

That he has a great smile.

The piranha and pike

Are making a living,

I'm sure with their family

They're loving and giving.

Now the perch is a fish

Who will eat his own kind,

Though offspring or sibling

He will pay that no mind.

But I'm glad he's well fed

For if he were thinner,

When boned and prepared

He'd not make a dinner.

THE BLACKBIRD

Some men have catalogued and listed you.

Is beauty more easily seen when given a name?

Others have credited you with human traits.

Do they wish to escape reality on your wings?

Some envy you. You who live by instincts.

What use abstract concepts of freedom to you?

Your beady eyes judge the distance between me and the food I have thrown.

How can you know that you are safe?

Only time can quell your fearful instincts.

Bring trust to take, and give to me the simple pleasure of watching living nature.

THE GREAT RETIREMENT PLAN

"We'll cruise the river Thames,

Such peace tranquillity."

Or something of that sort

My husband said to me.

"Pleasures on the river

Are absolutely free."

"That my would be captain

Was never meant to be."

"So we'll use our savings!

But is that wise my pet?"

"This boat is all we need

Just look at what we get!

Yes there's teething troubles

But now we are all set."

"But my dearest darling

The cabin's soaking wet!"

Safety is a problem

Our licence is denied.

Time and money later

Our boat is true and tried.

"Faults are now all mended

We'll give our friends a ride."

"Grinding gears, odd noises,

Quick, take us to the side!"

"The engine needs some work

There is this man I hear…"

"Work it needs replacing

And that will cost us dear."

Very little cruising

Nor river fun I fear.

The daftest thing of all

We'll try again next year!

STORM OVER THE AIRFIELD

Questing fingers probed the night,

Disclosing earth in fitful glow,

Following each lightening glance,

I heard a throaty chuckle grow.

The war bird growled mightily,

Shadow attendants rushed to obey

Their creation bathed in yellow arcs

That turned the night to sickly day.

Yellow arcs were eclipsed, extinguished,

Smashed aside by a vivid white,

A vast clap squashed silent the growl,

Rain washed the blackened night.

LANDFILL

Broiling, mewling gulls land and snatch their fill,

Lured from habitat by prodigious waste.

In sea of discarded goods and chattels

Lie split bags of food in glutinous paste.

Up high the driver in his yellow cab

Lifts and shifts the detritus of our lives.

There a doll that once attended picnics,

Close by the paper plates and plastic knives.

Is there treasure amongst this retching smell?

Soon buried deep the ring that was not lost

But thrown, a discarded token of love.

Symbolic place of warmth that's cooled to frost.

WORK

The worker at his lathe.

The one who digs the grave.

The man who lifts my bin

And whistles on his way.

The smiling serving wench.

The boffin at his bench.

The green fingered lady

Who tills the garden clay.

Doctors with healing art.

Actors who play their part.

The teacher with her class

Of children at their play.

The neat and tidy clerk.

How ever they may work,

With strength or skill or mind,

Let's value all each day.

WIND SHAPED TREES

These are very special trees,

No matter what their genus,

The wind has given to them

A double theme and purpose.

There on one side sparse branches stretch,

Leading the eye and the mind Upwards, their quivering tips

Say, "Reach out leave self behind."

There the downward sweep of branch,

Gives to secret thoughts a shade,

Brings inner contemplation

Of insect and grassy blade.

ON GROWING OLDER

I throw rocks in puddle, pond and lake,

For in these I can watch the circle grow.

When I was young I threw rocks in the sea,

In the blind faith that one day I would know.

Each drop of care formed a cresting wave,

Fast surfing help to all shores of need.

Now it would seem my tears can but flow,

In streams that nourish the nearest poor seed.

As bodies must age, knowledge should grow.

Must logical sight make a narrow heart,

Sanely seeing only nearby woe,

Not daring to take humanities part?

I pray that my heart gets back its youth,

With vigour to claim mankind my brother.

To fight every need with new found love,

No weight of sterile logic can smother.

NEW YEAR RESOLUTION

I'll not climb a mountain

Or cross a desert wide,

Leave a ship or aircraft

By diving o'er the side.

Easy resolutions,

I couldn't if I tried.

New year's resolutions

Are really rather sad.

Why a special date

To cast of all that's bad?

I'd rather try each day,

To make the whole world glad.

THE WISH TO CREATE

Oft times when sunlight falls just so,

Shapes and colours form beauteous rhyme,

My souls cries out to paint this scene,

And capture it for all of time.

The wind can blow with special note,

It plays great music of its own.

Oh how my heart has sought to sing,

Each lilt and chord the wind has blown.

So often I have cursed at fate,

Who grants that I may see and hear,

But has not given me the gift,

To catch and hold these things so dear.

But when I look at you my child,

Of all such angers I'm set free.

For a babe is true creation,

As full a joy as art can be.

SNOWDROP

Slender leaves thrusting through,

The frozen ground.

Fine stalk reaching for the sky.

Explosion of pure white blossom.

Promise of spring.

CITY ESCAPE

The musty, dusty, teeming, streaming, rushing city,

Squashed me, engulfed me.

The dirty grey buildings closed over my head

Their grim featureless faces

Forbade me a look at the sky.

The heaving, weaving, hatching, snatching, selling men,

Snared me, entrapped me.

Their yellow paged cares fell upon my back,

Their smiling fronted faces Forbade me to laugh or cry.

The selling men grew too greedy.

The city sprawled too far.

They fed my need to escape. I found my way to the sea.

Shore kissing, tumbling, bumbling, booming, cleansing spray.

I threw back my head and looked at the sky,

Drew life to my soul, with leisure, to laugh and cry.

LOVE

(of our children)

In English four letters,

That have occasioned

(No doubt by my betters)

Many, many words.

To me a simple art,

Should my loved ones wish,

Let them freely depart.

But oh how great the fear.

PRIMORDIAL COLOURS PRIMORDIAL COLOURS

(A description and interpretation of a canvas seen through the window of a Gallery. Artist unknown, the Gallery was closed)

Blue

Upon

Blue.

Blue upon, Grey, Brown and Green beside Blue.

A very few, pure White circles,

A few of deepest Black.

Billions of Grey circles,

Varying in depth of shade,

Changing where they overlap.

* * * *

Sky

Upon

Sea,

Sky upon Rock, soil and foliage, beside sea.

A small number of saintly people.

A few evil people.

Most of the earths people who are neither

Good nor bad,

Varying as they impact one on another.

HAIKU

A double rainbow,

Sun on rain makes arc of hope,

Natures true colours.

WOOD PIGEON WOOD PIGEON

(Columba palumbus)

RESIDENT IN MY GARDEN

At the year's rise.

Hustle and bustle,

Tension, dissension.

Hope for clear skies.

Then in the spring.

Cooing and wooing,

Matching and hatching.

Nature's wild fling.

WINTER FIELD IN CYPRUS

Serried crosses mark the vines,

Giving no hint of November wines,

Stumps writhing in hidden strife,

Yet in seeming death there is life.

SUNSET ON THE RIVER

The angler puts away his gear

To watch the sun's last light.

Nocturnal creatures start to stir

With coming of the night.

With neck outstretched and flailing wings

The cob defends his reach.

Ghost-like barn owl in silent dive,

Small rodent's dying screech.

The mallard stops its constant fuss

And comes to land at rest.

Moorhen and coot round up their young

And settle in their nest.

The otter quietly leaves his holt

To seek the river's yield.

Formation vee of gaggling geese

Fly down towards the field.

Wild life must now to hunt or sleep

In natures roundelay.

But man can chose to contemplate,

Reflect, on dying day.

THE VAGABOND AND I

His clock the dawn chorus,

The ruddy sunset glow,

The quarters of the moon,

Which flowers are in bloom.

Events are; kind people,

Hard shelter less winters,

The gift of a warm coat,

The casual work well paid.

My times; numbered papers,

The tick from springs and wheels.

Events are not people,

Elements, clear cut needs.

I chase a doubtful end,

Gaining uncertainty.

Not for me the vagabonds life,

Yet I envy his geometry.

OLD WOMAN

Yellow parchment vales of laughter,

Around a mouth curving neither up nor down.

Past worry crannies, forming not a frown

But a shield, for twin patches of sky

Looking in, on living bundles long outgrown

The lap, that holds only twigs gnarled and dry,

Laid quietly, hands that have sown,

Waiting not to reap, only for what comes after.

THE TRANSPLANT

Looking out the sickly child

Chose never to look below,

But to sky with horses wild

In clouds which promised snow.

In the books her parents read,

Of the country and the sea,

She could leave her lonely bed.

Such stories set her free.

When the donor's magic spell

Comes along some sunny day,

She will go both strong and well

To where the children play.

It was hard for her to wait

Through a winter drear and grey,

Thought the spell would come too late

Began to drift away.

Travelled to a tranquil land

And met there a special boy,

Gently he held out his hand

Then told her of his joy.

"I am glad that you are here,

Pleased to know you are the one,

You must return without fear,

Your life has now begun.

For my sake you can not stay,

There is much for you to do,

And a part for you to play,

My heart I give to you."

As she grew so true and good,

With the secret that she knew,

Tried to use the best she could,

Her heart that beat for two.

PLAIN JANE'S BLIND DATE

This time how shall I be –

Small and clinging:

Bold and free?

This one how will he act,

Open dismay,

Full of tact?

Oh friends! Why do you try?

Grooms in the bud

Pass me by.

FIRST LOVE

Yes child I remember first love well,

Honey and aloe together bound up,

Until my heart could not seem to tell,

How to bear this bitter sweet cup.

Moments apart were as dreary years,

Hours spent together just fled away.

Drunk with delight or drowned in salt tears,

I groped my way blindly through each day.

Moments of joy none could share,

Or yet could measure my deep despair.

You can not shield with wisdom and care.

Young love my child will always be there.

You wish to die, you cannot forget.

No need my child be patient be still.

Though I remember my first love yet,

You will recover my child, you will.

SHOULD MY LOVE BE TAKEN

If you were taken from me,

I think not that I would die,

This still animate body.

Would remain a hollow lie,

It's outer face from habit,

Would smile, show anger, sorrow,

Within no smallest echo,

The crust would ape and borrow,

Emotions from those who live.

INSOMNIA

The gloomy companion of the sleepless cast its pallid lightupon my hand,

That familiar part of me became an unknown mummifiedappendage.

Your broad slumbering back lived warmly in the shadow,

How great the urge to interrupt that rhythmic breath,

Hatefully indifferent to, yet mocking my sleepless state.

In the cruel hours lengthened by your lack of care,

I saw chilled moonlight reaching for your shoulder.

How carefully I lay my hand upon the spot,

For if you woke, could I explain the dread illusion,

The fear of those rays turning life to parchment death?