I have included here some poems that date from the summer of 2007, a season which has a strange and particular significance for me in that there was a period of roughly three months during which I inhabited a kind of dreamworld, living almost entirely inside my own head. I went out only rarely and, for the most part, saw only one or two close friends. I spent much time with my dog, walking, thinking, crying, reading, writing. It was, I think, the beginning of an important phase in my life, a time for healing and arriving at greater understanding and self-acceptance. During that three month period, I wrote more than six hundred poems which, taken together, say something of my understanding of my life and the human condition. All these poems are based on a simple ballad stanza and they tend to share something in common in terms of imagery and symbolism. I feel that they are intensely personal pieces but, at the same time, I believe they may have a more universal significance, most likey to be accessible to readers who may have found themselves on a similar journey.
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
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From the summer of 2007
Song of the Sea Crab
Crab dances sideways for her life
and snaps her claws at what she must.
She'll rarely go by paths direct;
more rarely still, entirely trust.
Crab knows how waters ebb and flow
and feels Earth's stir as soft sands shift.
She follows where the pale Moon shows,
on midnight tides, where sea-stars drift.
Sad Crab then lifts dim eyes to skies
and weeps to think how love must wane.
This moon grants much but more denies;
gives up, but, waxing, draws again.
Shy Crab inhabits little light
and likely opts to look aslant;
sees day, in faith, lay down with night -
but knows how sweetly Moon enchants.
Crab dances sideways for her life
and snaps her claws at what she must.
She'll rarely go by paths direct;
more rarely still, entirely trust.
Crab knows how waters ebb and flow
and feels Earth's stir as soft sands shift.
She follows where the pale Moon shows,
on midnight tides, where sea-stars drift.
Sad Crab then lifts dim eyes to skies
and weeps to think how love must wane.
This moon grants much but more denies;
gives up, but, waxing, draws again.
Shy Crab inhabits little light
and likely opts to look aslant;
sees day, in faith, lay down with night -
but knows how sweetly Moon enchants.
Snippet: Summer, 2007
Angel in the market place,
looking for a home.
Both she and I reduced in price
but much in value grown.
Snippet
A Poet is Ambassador
A poet's an ambassador
from foreign lands remote;
but little will so signify
by etiquette or cut of coat.
Nor will she ape the diplomat
who measures out his tongue
to ecstasy he does not feel
till babble strangles song.
A poet sings her mortal soul:
she whistles through the dark.
What grace befalls she'll gladly tell -
damnation's softly spoke.
A poet's an ambassador
from foreign lands remote;
but little will so signify
by etiquette or cut of coat.
Nor will she ape the diplomat
who measures out his tongue
to ecstasy he does not feel
till babble strangles song.
A poet sings her mortal soul:
she whistles through the dark.
What grace befalls she'll gladly tell -
damnation's softly spoke.
Summer, 2007
Augury
Besieged by magpies, everywhere:
I cannot walk but they are there
to squawk and screech and flap a din
that stifles speech and prompts a prayer.
Heart asks what interlopers mean,
that come so bold, in black and white:
as darkling brides to wed a lamb,
or thieves to steal a light?
Dull souls have studied, age on age,
the misery of mortals past;
and sought in faith's illumined page
the refuge of the just.
But what if magpies flock to bring
that bitterness that bridles soul?
There will I dance in death's bright ring -
and will God's thunder roll?
Besieged by magpies, everywhere:
I cannot walk but they are there
to squawk and screech and flap a din
that stifles speech and prompts a prayer.
Heart asks what interlopers mean,
that come so bold, in black and white:
as darkling brides to wed a lamb,
or thieves to steal a light?
Dull souls have studied, age on age,
the misery of mortals past;
and sought in faith's illumined page
the refuge of the just.
But what if magpies flock to bring
that bitterness that bridles soul?
There will I dance in death's bright ring -
and will God's thunder roll?
