YESTERDAY NO LONGER - THE SEASHORE BY TWILIGHT
Saturday, 13 April 2013
A final word-picture, this time unrhymed, in which I have attempted to recapture via alliteration, onomatopoeia, and selected repetition the subtle beauty and sounds of the seashore experienced one evening alone with only the sands and waves for company, and the thought that perhaps there really is something more out there than merely our own mortality. Until the next time…
YESTERDAY NO LONGER - THE SEASHORE BY TWILIGHT
Over the slumbering shore I stroll, over the gently undulating seas of glistening sand, shining silver in the pale, overlapping light of the moon and stars. The violet sea flows gently up the silver layers of sandy shore, coated with white surf, billowing like featherdown. It makes no sudden, sharp movement as I walk between the grey, red, green, and yellow pebbles strewn over the seashore, speckled here and there with spiralled shells, almost as if it too were sleeping, the mauve and blue waves reflecting silver light that darts back and forth over their sparkling crests like living shadows cast down from the moon.
As I walk on, the sea stretches alongside, endless in its volume and capacity, rolling softly over silent shores like a blue fluid wind, billowing and ruffling, casting up airborne bubbles to spiral and cycle before bursting, their souls returning downwards to be reborn in the waters of the sea.
And as I look at the sea in this dark, silent evening, it seems as if another world lies beyond its shimmering boundaries, lying just behind the horizon, to which, one day, we shall all go, across the rolling waves of the ocean – leaving behind the silver sands, passing through the tranquil twilight, until we reach the very end of the ocean itself, and then at last we shall be there. We shall have left the world behind, our cares and our hopes and our dreams all forgotten, leaving the slumbering sea to caress the sleepy shores forever.
Thursday, 28 February 2013
How strange it is that whereas the seconds of our lives pass quite slowly, the minutes seem to go by faster, and the hours faster still, as our lives race ever onward to their conclusion. And yet as they depart, others commence – the one certainty in a world of uncertainly is that Life, in an innumerable multitude of forms, is ever-present.
LIFE - THE INFINITY OF THE WORLD
The throbbing fingers of a clock
Tick slowly by, ne’er ceasing,
Just as Time moves on forever,
Never stopping, never easing,
In its swift, eternal race
Through the vales of Outer Space.
Seconds trickle by like raindrops
In my life, so little being,
Followed closely by the minutes
As they chase, forever fleeing,
Through the heavens still and grey
In the silhouette of Day –
Like a windmill turning softly
Through a timeless, depthless pool,
As its orbit circles ever
Round its lone, immortal spool,
Till it sinks away to die
‘Neath the shadows of the sky.
Thus my life flits swiftly onwards
As the hours soon drop away
Like a host of cloudy phantoms,
Growing fainter every day,
Till at last their forms are gone,
And the Future marches on –
Like a journey hoping ever
For a journey of its own,
As its unknown dreams await me,
Each I meet but once, alone.
Then it’s gone, it cannot wait,
Nor can any ghost of Fate,
Till, to God, my soul turns humbly
On my final mortal day.
Metamorphosis is over,
And my spirit flies away,
To a Land of lasting Peace,
Where e’en Time shall find release.
Saturday, 19 January 2013
Remarkable as it may seem, blue-furred tigers have been reliably reported on several occasions from certain regions of China and Korea, and strands of their fur have even been found on trails utilised by these evanescent, dream-like beasts. How magical it must have been to have seen such a creature...
In a dream it might have been,
I saw a blue tiger.
As cerulean as the sky,
Ethereal yet awesome,
Eclipsing even the scarlet rays of dawn,
Its strange, unearthly hue
Filled the heavens with its wonder,
Gleamed from the gaudy plumes of jungle birds,
Glimmered in the plush, powdered wings of butterflies,
Glittered in the cool depths of a forest pool.
It lowered its proud, regal head,
Shaking it in the pool's limpid waters,
And ripples gyrated madly across the dark surface,
Skimming and shivering,
No longer calm, no longer tranquil,
A liquid mirror in startled disruption.
Refreshed, the tiger raised its head,
Majestic, aloof, magnificent,
Quelling the ripples, the mirror restored.
And the tiger's azure reflection
The tiger opened its eyes -
And I was awake.
Sunday, 9 December 2012
One day, I was gazing idly at the flames in the fire when I saw a lion there, stirring amid the very heart of the blaze...
THE FIRE LION
Out of the flames the fire lion steps,
Padding slowly, insouciantly,
His mane ablaze, his eyes aglow,
Amber and scarlet, crimson and gold.
A coruscating kingdom is his to rule,
To reign amid the fiery splendour,
The burnished resplendence,
A feline conflagration,
Flickering in the dark,
And casting forth sparks,
As he burns through the evening
Like a candle through shadows,
Torching my dreams and my hopes
Till they shrivel in cinders
Of unfulfilled promise.
And only their embers remain,
Now that the fire lion has triumphed,
Now that the fire lion is gone.
Thursday, 29 November 2012
Some of the happiest days of my childhood were spent strolling through the fields and forests near my home. Today, many of those beautiful retreats are gone, paved over and lost beneath the ever-encroaching shadow of urban settlement, but I see them still in my mind’s eye, and there is no doubt that part of my essence lingers on in those green and pleasant lands of my youth.
A CALL FROM MY PAST
Back to the countryside’s
Still morning air,
Where grass softly sways, for
My heart remains there.
Small singing birds perching
On leaf-covered trees,
The sun shining down on
Small yellow-striped bees
That gather sweet nectar
From every wild flower.
For this is her hour.
The field-mice in cornfields,
The swans on the lakes –
All Nature’s perfections,
Not man-made mistakes.
And as I gaze fondly
On all that I see,
A child’s voice sounds softly,
It’s calling to me –
The voice of my childhood,
The laugh of a child
Who listened, and followed,
The call of the wild.
Wednesday, 31 October 2012
Here is something new and very exciting for my Star Steeds poetry blog and for me – a guest poem, contributed by Randi Wood, one of my many good friends on Facebook. Enjoy!
THE MAN IS LIKE THE OCEAN
The Ocean, lapping calmly under the sun.
Rarely telling the wealth of magic and drama it keeps beneath.
He is the Keeper of Mysteries,
With depths untold, and unseen.
But there below his waves the Ocean's soul of splendor pulses.
Fathoms and fathoms, expanses warm and colorful;
Cool and clean and free.
At his heart, the deepest chasms - places to hide and just Be.
Volcanoes, fires from the deep - shelter for those seeking warmth.
He is the Ocean of legend, full of danger and beauty and life.
Watching for hours, though some may not witness his power,
I know what wonders he hides.
I know that what is not seen is infinite.
What goes unsaid is what counts.
The truth is:
Still waters run deepest, the current beneath stirring strong.
I don't take him for granted, nor his surface so calm....
The peaks in his soul would shame Everest,
And here be dragons, I know.
Here is my darkly delicious (in every sense!) Hallowe'en twist to Edward Lear's much-loved tale of the Owl and the Pussycat!
IT'S HALLOWE'EN TIME WITH THE OWL AND THE PUSSYCAT!
The Witch-owl and Wizard-cat set out that night
On a broomstick that flew through the sky.
Then drove a black hearse packed with many a curse,
And laughed as the miles soon sped by.
The cat gazed long at his feathered friend,
And purred with a smile that was wide.
"Oh big fat Owlie," he thought to himself,
How tasty you would be inside, inside, inside,
How tasty you would be inside!"
To the Owl then said Pussy: "You elegant hussy,
How sweet is your form, and how wide!
We two must be married, too long have we tarried,
I yearn for you, Owl, as my bride!"
And so, to honour their precious love,
They entered a café to dine,
And here, all evening, they ate and they drank
Its finest cuisine and sweet wine, sweet wine, sweet wine,
Its finest cuisine and sweet wine.
"Just one dish remains," said the cat with a grin,
"'Tis a rare and an elegant fowl.
Can you guess, my true love, just what I'm thinking of?
Well done - you're correct! Yes, it's Owl!!!"
Alone he now dined, the Wizard-cat,
With only a runcible spoon,
Then, wiping Owl plumes from whiskers of white,
He danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon,
He danced by the light of the moon.