Skim a brittle frozen lake
And dance into my heart again
Melt my mind with breaths of spring
And lead me to The May
When the nights are lighter And when the days are lengthening
Bluster me with morning thrills,
Lead me to my Blue Remembered Hills
Fill my sky with untold stars
Breathe me into life again
Sketch my air with summer nights
And choose for me the way
Your magic hour at sunset
When reds and golds surprise
Roll my tongue with sugar pills
And lead me to my Blue Remembered Hills
Once we were callow young
With all our years before us
Ever two together as one
Now with our new found song aching to be sung
We’ll cast our dreams upon the Blue Blue Hills
So dance me through the Valentine
To where our love is sheltering
Shower me in blossom sparks
Of hawthorne’s scented day’til sage Augustus clothes us
In frosted robes of silvery
When seasons move against our will
We’ll walk upon our Blue Remembered Hills
When seasons move against our will
On Blue Remembered Hills(from Splinters and Sparks)
Genre: Life, living life, living, hopeful, joy, happy, sad, perspective
Symbols and notes I see, I see signs of what’s to be. I’ve seen hearts, wings and babies. I don’t understand them as they appear more so daily. These days go by so quick, I want to enjoy every moment as they come and go by. In my sights of life see more intolerance this is why I want to enjoy this life. These symbols could be more than just a sign, it could very well be what I’ve been missing in my life. True friendships have found me happy and sometimes it makes me cry that’s my life. So why do I wonder what these signs are about. I question it sometimes. Life is a question mark , the answers will come in time. I still have plenty of life to live to make it right. After all this is my life.
Like Tolkien’s Sméagol and Deagol,
Fighting for a ring,
I know two regal beagles,
That consume poop willingly.
Canines inclined,
With impassioned zeal,
Palates refined,
They never yield.
Gains, pains, and yellow stains.
My, how those pups do yearn.
Digging out fecal remains,
Yields the law of diminishing returns.
To some, unspeakable things.
There’s no way to dull it.
Saliva and Polly-O Pooh Strings,
Gliding down the gullet.
Wagging tails for slippery meals.
Who am I to judge?
What makes a puppy right as rain,
For chugging colon sludge?
I’ve tried to intervene at times,
Met only with low growls.
Dependent dog dispensary,
A store of empty bowels.
It takes a special vessel,
A superb specimen of daring.
A nugget to be wrestled.
There is no need for sharing.
.
Slip, slip, sliding.
No deposits on the lawn.
There’s no use in hiding,
The shit eating grins upon their maws.
Ponder, what would inspire one
To recount this commonplace?
The punch line comes at hot lunch end,
When they try to lick my face.
When all leashed up for walks and such,
We make our way outside.
Among flowerbeds and blades of grass,
These pooches squat astride.
If nature calls, they spin and yelp.
The dogs can hardly wait.
When gravity gives a little help,
Each will make a claim.
An angry eye.
An aperture.
Advent surprise.
Of this I’m sure.
The arrival of some sustenance,
From each small creatures bum.
Forgive my writhing countenance,
You know where it’s from.
Make no mistake,
There is no shame, as vile as it seems.
Turds find no earth,
But end in jaws of waiting devotees.
They can’t deny,
A fresh supply of corn-fed loaded nibble.
It seems to me it’s much preferred to,
Homogenized dog kibble.
In all my days,
I never spied such desperate lunchtime dining.
I relent, who am I,
To keep them from their mining?
In spite of me, they side with flies,
When choosing supple suppers.
Bon Appétit! Some slippery meals,
For eager beagle puppers.
Ten thousand days, perhaps more
Now faded forever
Since he first enlightened this lyricist
Guiding my vestal quill
Through undiscovered lands
With the poise of Gandalf
Proffering just enough to arouse one more query
The old man stood bent at the waist
The autumn of his life declared by the deep lines upon his face
His hands unable to conceal a never-ending tremble
He has always appeared ancient to my youth-filled gaze
Silver hair with amber tips
Bespectacled eyes behind thick glass
A wooden cane never leaving his grip
The morning sun greets our kinship
As I help him to our old park bench
Quietly we share the new dawn
I speak first
As oft I do,
Nay, as I always have
I pose my question,
“Where do tears go when they depart my eyes?”
I know they wander down my cheeks
When my emotions I cannot disguise
So, tell me dear sir,
“Where do tears go when they depart my eyes?”
Without a word, he looks at me
A glimpse of sadness breaks upon his face
For he already knows the reason of my query
The healer’s words had no hope to lend
The cancerous centaur
Laughed at the toxic elixir
Spreading its tentacles
Tendering deadly kisses
It seems my time here, is nearing the end
He spoke to me with an ancient whisper
A slithering smile slowly began to appear
He spoke as a teacher
A prophet
A friend
“You have nothing to fear
Soon you will stand in the place He prepared for you
There you will see the glorious truth-
Tears never die or go away
They turn to mist
To be used another day”
“Soon you will understand
He knows every tear that has ever dared to fall
And He will stretch out His hand
And gently wipe them all
That my young friend
Is where the tears go”
If the world would stand against us,
If the mighty men of this world contend against us,
If the goddess of beauty seduce me,
If the mighty ocean king oppress me,
If the hostile Sun should set her fire against me
Not even when the Moon shines brighter than the Sun,
Will I be offended at all these did!
Words can offend and pollute me,
A yes is positive,
A no will kill suicide,
Please beauty, end the misery and call the shots,
My love for you is for all eternity and a day,
When I say I love you, the stars were jealous,
The Angels that guard you were offended at my words,
They plan evil to possess my body just to have a taste of mortal love,
I’m not moved,
Your shine silenced the shine of the sun,
Will you then not take me forever with you?
Men, wake up
Our women are branching new flowers
Flowers of a new way,
new independence
Independence is taking new roots
in their souls
Souls guiding them to more love –
a different love
Love they want from us, but love
they are not finding
Finding new fissures to seek the water
their souls need
Men, wake up
Climb from our roles, and grow
Grow from the provider role,
the leader role
Roles that are needed,
but not like before
Before we hunted and gathered,
filling an archetype passed by
our fathers – Be Strong Like Wolves!
Fathers now are teaching the same
to their sons
Men, wake up
Be Strong Like Wolves!
Be keen and swift
Work together for your pack
and don’t carry yours alone
Gather and provide
See through all ranges
And, gather strength from
your women.
Men, wake up
This strength is going to be different
We cannot rely on past roles
passed down from our pack leaders
We need to provide what their
new independence needs
We need to provide an emotional connection,
a connection not watered down by the
stresses of the range
Men, Be Strong Like Wolves
But, be connected
Else your pack will head a new direction,
led by the independent woman.
It’s a light-hearted parody of a very well-known poem: Cargoes by John Masefield. I updated the topic for a modern-day readership.
What motivated you to write this poem?
The idea just came to me out of the blue when I was pushing a shopping cart around a supermarket. By the time I reached the checkout I’d worked out the poem’s basic structure and thought of some of the lines. I had to keep repeating them over and over to myself until I got home and could write them down!
How long have you been writing poetry?
I’ve dabbled with it for most of my life, but it’s only during the past few years that I’ve started taking my work more seriously.
If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?
Oh gosh, there are so many. But if I had to choose just one, I think it would have to be William Shakespeare. He was a great and prolific writer, and has influenced much of my own work, including two of my novels (see below). I’d love to ask him what he did during the seven years of his life which are unaccounted for, between leaving Stratford-upon-Avon and arriving in London. And I’d also find out once and for all if he spoke with a regional accent!
What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?
It felt like a great opportunity, for which I am most grateful. Thank you.
Do you write other works? Scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?
I’ve written a few short stories which have been published in anthologies, and I’ve also written four novels which are published by Crooked Cat Books. Two of these (The Ghostly Father and The Unkindest Cut of All) are based on works by Shakespeare (respectively Romeo & Juliet and Julius Caesar). The other two are Nice Girls Don’t (a romantic intrigue based on a search for family secrets) and Never on Saturday (a time-slip romance novella based on an old French legend). I currently have two other projects on the go, but they are still in the early stages.
I also do editing work for other writers.
What is your passion in life?
Life itself. It should be lived to the full. Every moment is precious, and will never come again.
POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film. 