My Poems for you, i hope you enjoy them, and as this is really just my vanity page, sorry if you don't..
Sceptic.
Its but a speck, in solar light,
And all that you, have called the night,
Is the shadow of its spin.
And this little film, of narrow air,
And tiny space within.
Holds all for which you ever care,
And all that you, have called,
A sin.
On such as this, have terrors played,
And a million jarring dogmas made.
Courtship.
As is appreciate, the brightest grace,
Remorseless nature gives our human race.
Therefore, think no ill of me,
For thinking very well of thee.
Perception and Evolution.
There's no things could, so much enduring give,
As fragile things, that swiftly die, and live.
Those hosts before, who lived and died.
That with nature might, in us provide.
Fragments of ancient life and woe,
Which are every feeling, that we know.
Then the wisdom of three billion years.
Comes out, in human joys, and tears.
And from that heritage shall flow.
All we shall ever care, or know.
A Garden Poem for those who like to walk the hills.
With memories of wild are gardens sown,
For rest assured the plants do not forget,
The mountain or the wild wood yet;
And if you should, only raise constraint.
Then find that, "culture’s depth is faint."
So the latent annals of our minds inspire.
To see the wilding hours, that once we spent,
Called back today, by gardens’ favour lent.
Dog Knows (For Annie).
You do not know, the forests are forever gone,
And fenced around, the woodlands all primeval joys.
That walk and seek for us, are merely pointless toys.
And all the great pursuits, an age that’s long since done,
The hunt to feed our races youth; One that’s long since won.
No.
You see that leaves and trees, are as they ever were.
As from the ancient wolf, you see the wild things run,
And water cold, is still, unchanging as your sun.
Your only knowing, how you can make me see,
As when a child, my mind and world were free.
How ever can I repay, such outstanding dept?
To you, who’s insights are, the greatest of them all,
And give them gladly, for a bed, and game of ball.
Loss
(A paraphrase.)
In this cool green space.
Where wings of memory,
Bring in a once loved face.
Nature’s sky is all above,
And only subtleties, yours to love.
Waits a spider pearl and green,
A nest of silken white,
Soft, pure, and spotless clean.
But I must check the fuel,
Harrow, then go spray,
However it is cruel.
However long the day.
And though a week is over,
A spider sits at duties test,
Though all is moved and shaken,
And fades to dun, her pristine nest.
Beneath the tractors hood,
A thousand spiders scatter wide,
From nest that’s now undone.
I look to find a mothers pride,
And see you pale, and faded grey,
Maybe a skin that’s now outgrown?
No, life has really gone away.
Says "she" who never felt a sigh,
“Lesser mother, time to die.”
No matter what, your labours great.
Nor have you any need to stay,
And see the blossom of your day.
Search
Only the stubbornest will,
The greatest love can give.
The very darkest night,
The starlight sharply bright.
Give all your summers,
And making of hay.
For the cut-glass light,
Of one clear winters day.