To be Still

storm-sea-sky

She turned towards the greyness
of the thunderous sea and sky,
her tears lost to the wanton wind
as she dreamed of stillness.

The stillness of a frozen path
covered with that lazy snow
that drifts capriciously
smothering all beneath.

The stillness of an animal,
trapped in the gaze of a hunter,
frozen in its startled state
‘til it’s heart is stopped.

The stillness of an empty church
where the silence echoes
filling the void with peace,
while the cold walls seep death.

And while she dreamed,
the whirlwind world
whipped around her still,
amplifying her melancholy.

She watched as the waves
attacked the rocks below,
then, succumbing to the depths between,
felt the numbing embrace of water.

 

 

 

The 42

The poem below was inspired by this headline – ‘Oxfam: 42 super-rich hold same wealth as world’s poorest 3.7 bln – 22nd January, 2018

The sun shines on their towers
and glints from the roofs of their fast cars
It makes patterns in the water of their pools
and melts the ice in their long drinks
It tans their golden skin
and it blinds them
They are the 42

The 42 fat cats in their castles
with their small minds locked
on rising lines on screens
don’t they see the others
those sitting in muddy tents
drinking muddy water
wrapped in drenched rags

Don’t they see the silent babies
with their distended bellies
fly ridden, naked and snotty
their paper skin stretched
over the sharp outline
of their fragile bones

Can’t they imagine the horrors
of a child’s misery in sickness
When the doctors not on call
And there are no pills to pop
Or drugs to take
Nor a bed to rest in

Those who can afford
to be fussy over food
with their diets and their health kicks
who drag their overweight bodies to the gym
to keep ostentatiously fit
Intelligent enough to get rich
Yet what do they know of living?

 

 

 

 

The Marriage Dance

first dance

Remember when we swayed
clasped body to body,
drunk with love, while people
watched and cooed and cheered

Lost on our rocking boat
the dancefloor filled with friends
and excited children
without us noticing 

I trod on your silk skirts
with my clumsy left feet
tangled, we tripped and laughed
and were both indulgent  

The flowers in your hair
slipped and fell to the floor
and were crushed beneath us
and it didn’t matter 

Then when the beat of the music changed
we drew apart
we misaligned
and we mistimed the rhythm

That tender way we danced
it seems so long ago

 

 

Look at the birdie…

Posted in response to the DailyPost weekly photo challenge.  This week’s theme ‘Graceful’.

Early Morning Mist

Yeah, I know, I know, I’ve used this picture before, but I honestly couldn’t fine a more fitting example for this challenge.  Oh, I had lots of nice birdie and animal pictures, and more graceful arching branches than I could count.  But, this photo of the most graceful building in the world, the Taj Mahal, caught by my goodself in the (very) early morning mist (yawn…) says it all.

We all think we know about the Taj Mahal, but no photograph or tv picture in the world will ever capture it’s vastness and purity of structure and form.  It glows in the sunrise with quite breathtaking beauty and grace.

Shame the bloomin’ bird got in the way… hehee.. 😉

Only  joking. Just look at the gorgeous sweep of those wings!

 

Dalliance

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Lets go down to the bluebell wood
to lie beneath the new sprung leaves

and let the patterns of their shadows

dance upon our bodies
 

And we’ll snuggle

to annul the fresh spring breeze

which bears the scent

of those virgin flowers

that wreath us as we watch 

the insects search

for nectar 

They’ll be no apples nor any snakes

and yet we’ll sin as one

hidden there in bliss

amongst the bracken

and lucky white heather