The language of the sea

The short lapping waves come in then recede
incessant and gentle and free
They speak to me softly in whispering tone
what it is to be part of the sea

And I understand fully as this language I speak
having learnt it when just a lad
Its rhythm speaks wisdom of treasure to keep
which over the years I have had

A walk by the water

There’s a lot to be said
at the end of the day
for getting out for a while to the beach
A short walk by water
is just what we oughta
do as it’s there in our reach

About a book from Venice II

This time last year I wrote about
a little book I’d bought
in Venice which I’d fully used
for poems as I ought
It was a lovely book so
when going back last year
I purchased two new volumes
to keep handy very near
For I am looking forward
to using them once more
and writing daily in them
which of course is what they’re for

Lifting II

I’m thinking of a song I heard
one that brought a grin
for that is what I need right now
with the state I’m in
I’m trying hard, don’t get me wrong
and I know I’m not alone
as there are many others out there
who like me must stay at home
But it’s hard remaining positive
so I need a helping hand
provided by a favourite song
sung by a favourite band

Welcome the Day

Reposting a poem from 2015 for #Throwback Friday

A moment to pause
in the early morning
when I rise


A chance to refresh
in the quiet hours
before I run

Simple II

I don’t ask for much in life
I’m quite a simple chap
Just music and some lavender
will content me, that’s a fact
So enforcing isolation
when we all must stay at home
doesn’t really bother me
and I’ll not gripe and moan

Tri-haiku XXVII (sunshine)

In these troubled days
with my movement restricted
by Covid-19

I am resolute
that the sunshine will remain
and bring fortitude

It is my saving
Ever precious and constant
A true friend indeed

-23.03.20_18:06-

Stream clattering down,
Metallic plinks

Few trees

3 of 3 in the ‘Tree’ series from Jemverse

There are few trees up here but still
the view is quite breathtaking
so I don’t mind a bit because
it’s freedom in the making
On our doorsteps here but still
few people get this far
A mystery as up here the view
is quite spectacular

From Three Trees

2 of 3 in the ‘Tree’ series from Jemverse

From ‘Three Trees’ on the Beacon
with sunshine in the field
the view is always wonderful
out across the Weald
As you can see for miles
to the hill line way up north
across the scattered villages
as clouds pass back and forth
This place it is idyllic
high up on South Downs Way
made better by the sunshine
on this lovely mid-March day

Silences

What an odd boy, they used to say of me.
They’re still saying it.
But I’m a writer, my dear, and not right in the head.
That’s all it is. But I do know how to
take my time and listen,
sitting under the willow tree in the spring as the birds
bring me happy messages from God.
I will take my time with other important things, too,
so lay your curves of water here beside me.

If this pleases you,
You may pay me back with your
gift of second sight,
and tell me where my true nature hides,
where my pain
scuttles unhealed,
my illusions fester.

I will love you all the more for it.
These are gifts we give, freely
and they bind us in profound ways
because they reveal.

As a tree

1 of 3 in the ‘Tree’ series  from Jemverse

Though I am a poem
I am often as a tree
spreading wide my branches
to the winds and fancy free
Sometimes I am majestic
growing strong and very tall
and other times I’m minuscule
insignificantly small

Mother’s day 2020

My mother didn’t make it
to see my sixty years
when she passed away in May last year
amongst the smiles and tears
That saddened me (of course it did)
but it’s other times I miss
like the joy of giving flowers
on Mother’s Days like this
Yet the solace that I take away
from all the days I’ve cried
is the ever joyful knowledge
that she’s by my Father’s side

Sunshine shadow

Sunshine shadow
casts a glance
with nonchalance and whimsy
warming through the window
but outside still frail and flimsy

Sunshine shadow
gains in strength
now though as Springtime garners
new life from winter’s barren hands
for gardeners and farmers

Love in the Time of Corona

I’ve grown tired of disappointing women.
And of being disappointed in them.
I know that’s too broad a conclusion
from a very small sample.
Don’t care. I need a break,
and Corvid-19 is a convenient excuse.

I’m hiding out from another virus
of my own making,
sheltering in place and
eating frozen vegetables.
Aware this might become permanent.

I had a long life with a woman who died,
a life better than most, I think,
not as good as some.
But still, what do I have to complain about?

Younger people have their difficulties,
stemming mostly from being naively stupid,
but older men and women bring
a lot of experienced stupidity to the bed, too.
(If it ever gets that far.)

Little for perfecting

Across the bridge over the Adur
at night with lights reflecting
This view across to Shoreham Beach
needs little for perfecting

Fortitude

Each evening on the journey home
we drive beside the sea
‘neath a big sky that sweeping view
How fortunate are we?
The shingle beach right there beside
the road just yards away
a pleasure bringing fortitude
on each and every day

Today

3 of 3 in the ‘Day’ series from Jemverse

Today I will probably work for a while
I’ll start about eight I would think
But first I’ll sit here and look at the world
as I’ve still some more coffee to drink

Vanities

Feel your belly button,
where you were attached to
your mother. But
try not to think about
about the night you were conceived.
Whether it was a result of
a hand up a skirt, urgent kisses
and fevered promises
and premature explanations
on your mother’s couch.
(After consultations with
your inner editor,
let’s instead say it was
after a long talk over wine,
Chopin on the stereo,
tender kisses and happy plans.)

What does it matter now? You’re here.
Don’t screw up.
That’s what it comes down to.

Or wind your watch forward
(humor me, you digital ones)
a thousand years.
Was there ever a coffin
built to last the whole trip?
One that was worth the price?
We could ask Tutenkamen, I suppose,
(Who was bad at office politics
and is still dead.)

Every day

2 of 3 in the ‘Day’ series from Jemverse

By my window of a morning
when my blogs have been updated
I will sit here with my coffee
’til my mind is satiated

For there’s one thing I like to do
before I start my day
Commit to paper a few lines
in my own special way

Starting Fresh

 

Beyond the scope of our perceptions

They live, thrive even

Unseen

The precursors of life 

That once rose out of primordial goo

Giving rise to our modern-day selves

In the span of millennia

 

Another day

1 of 3 in the ‘Day’ series from Jemverse

Fragile the fading
light slips quietly away
Yet, though mournful I pine
it is a sentiment embroidered
with the wonder of hope
Precious in the knowledge that
tomorrow is another day

Tanka week VII (Saturday)

7 of 7

My tanka week ends
Seven days and many words
every one from heart
And every one fashioned here
for reading delectation

Tanka week VI (Friday)

6 of 7

The penultimate
Nine lines more to speak my voice
Not to wane or waste
but here for ‘carpe diem’
Seize the day and capture all

Old and Young

A difference between

the young and the old….

Most of the people the young loved

are still around.

Tanka week V (Thursday)

5 of 7

And then to rhythm
with the timbre and syntax
sounding as a drum
with feet tapping to the beat
allows this tanka to speak

Eyes

I met a widow once,
wrapped in loss.
She said
she could not see a better
day coming.

I looked over my shoulder,
along the long road,  
and gave her my eyes.

A Modern Man

I walk too often in the echoes of a cold canyon,
sometimes accompanied by my wife,
dead now barely two years. She’s silent, amused,
faintly attached to this world and soon to go again,
impatient with me for hanging onto melancholic vapors
when it’s obvious–to her, anyway–that I just haven’t wised up yet.

But I’m a so-called modern man, allergic to undue connections,
Even when a dream comes and I
am lurched through a deeper portal and part a
gauzy barrier to walk with skeptical ghosts.
All I know when I wake is this bag of meat and its
pedestrian priorities.

She knew. She told me to find someone.
Knew I would only trust the secrets, the warmth and dampness,
the round softnesses I could hold,
with nipples like rosebuds and mysterious eyes;
knew that all man’s scripture could be held on a 3-by-5 card,
if he weren’t so stubbornly drunk on himself.