It's spring 2018 and time to move forwards. Much has changed since my last post and now it is time to concentrate on writing. The decks are cleared and I'm ready to go. As I look out of the window I can see the early signs of spring. A few small flowers have appeared, the birds are singing again after the long winter months and the first buds are beginning to unfurl. The winter wasn't wasted and although time was a very limited commodity I took the opportunity to revisit and improve old poems and prepare for a new season.
A little time spent writing each day pays dividends in the end. If you think of a good line write it down and it will be there for you later. Springtime is a simile for new beginnings, for new life. I've been fortunate to find a new poetry group - Poetry Plus - and am making new connections. I've been able to resume regular performances. Now it is time for new material drawing on those lines I saved when life was too crowded with other more urgent things that had to take priority.
Are you looking for a new stimulus to writing? Do you need to make new connections or revisit old work with a fresh perspective? Have you banked up lines and ideas to draw on going forwards? Are there new directions you can take your writing? Now is the time to get going on those ideas you set aside. Your perspective is unique, write about your life, how you see things. I'm am positive the greater the investment the greater the return. I sincerely wish you every success in 2018!
Kernel
Fluttering
against the glass
Still
he beats his wings
After
long and fallow years
On
the outside looking in
A
lonely, frightened mocking bird
With
gold dust on his tongue
Carrying
the burden
Of
an imagined Midas touch
So
much to say, so little time
He
would sing for you
Bring
precious stones, a holly wreath
Things
borrowed, old and blue
It’s
cold out on the margins
The
brittle edge of time
In
deepest dark the brightest stars
Gleam
in solitude divine
Within
this darkest hour
A
kernel only night can bring
He
awaits the cusp of sunrise
When
he’ll catch your eye and sing
Decades
I
saw you playing
In
the forest
Amid
sunbeams and flowers
Dancing
shafts of light
I
tried to touch you
Reach
out and touch you
But
you faded away
Into
memories.
I
heard you laughing
Somewhere
amongst the trees
And
tried to catch your words
As
they passed on the breeze
I
tried to listen to you
Really
listen to you
But
you faded away
Into
silence.
I
watched the seasons turn
Leaves
redden and fall
Like
myriad lips
Kissing
the soil
I
gleaned the bones
Of
the forest by night
Searching
for footprints
Amid
moonbeams.
When
spring returns
To
the sleeping trees
Bringing
birdsong and flowers
Dancing
shafts of light
I’ll
try to find you
Reach
out and touch you
Fill
the years that remain
With
new life.
Schwere
Arbeit
Time
passes slowly in this place
Minutes
are not of the same duration
The
enjoyable ones fly by more quickly.
I stare at
the clock and the hands distort
Slowly,
Dali like, it loses form
Slipping
down the wall leaving a snail like trail.
Trial by
time and torture by telephone
With its
umbilical cord
Waiting to
give birth to some new complaint;
“I’ve
been given your number to call when someone dies”.
Machinery
whirs, faintly humming
An
electronic ode to the passing day.
I insulate
myself like an electrical cable
Mustn’t
make the mistake of listening to the
Interminable
tap-tap-taping of the lesser-spotted keyboard
Clicking
like crickets in the long grass
Clickety-clack,
clickety-clack
One mating
board calls to another
Marking
out territories on veneered desks.
You don’t
fool me!
No tree
has a grain so symmetrical.
Grains
falling through the ether like
Sand
falling through an egg timer
The egg a
symbol of life
Especially
at this time of year
Pregnant
with promise as
The trees
outside celebrate in the sunshine.
Spring
arrives in a vivid burst of fragrance and colour
Which the
dark little mushrooms in here can see but cannot feel.
Japan
In a
different way of looking at things, it is the moment of sublime
perfection
When
beauty stretches its fragile fingers as cherry blossom fronds.
That
instant is the one to die, the passing in itself a supreme majesty.
Nothing
is permanent and they know this, with their ancient wisdom.
They
celebrate the moment that the blossoms fall, fluttering down
To
settle on the water, thin pink droplets like fragrant tears.
I shed
myself the same for you. Lay upon your still waters for a moment
Passing
a torrent of myself, like blossom, through a needle gate.
That
instant is the one to die, the passing in itself a supreme majesty.
Exquisite Seam
I am told these scriptures come from beyond the self
That the ebb and flow of productive thought must end
That one cannot continue to delve into the self ad infinitum.
Yet I find the deeper I dig the richer the vein becomes, until I hit
pure gold.
Pure gold is your smile and every thought I have of your exquisite
beauty.
Au
printemps à la salle d'attente
Spring
spreads its wings
Outside
the waiting room
Icicles
dissolve
People
thaw out
And
unfurl their arms
Remembering
what it’s like
To
live and love.
The
sky clears its throat
And
coughs out clouds
Daffodils
erupt
Through
broken soil
As
trains ply to and fro
Spitting
out passengers
Engulfing
waifs and strays.
Spring
illuminates the fields
Empty
minutes pass
The
hour glass
Re-fills
itself with sand.
Sunlight
pierces the realm
Of
battered dreams
And
promises warmth
A
train, a life to catch.
