Followers

 


POSTCARD FROM COMILLAS
(Comyass) Northern Spain
The heady scent
of mimosa perfumes
the ascending breeze.
Blown tulip petals
drift softly to earth.
Below, overnight rain
steams gently on
the carmine tiles of
medieval houses
huddling together
in narrow streets,
as the early morning
sun gains strength
and smiles kindly
on Comillas.
Nearby a drowsing dog,
rudely awakened,
chastises an infant
wailing for its feed.
On the hill, the
now deserted
university gazes
with empty eyes
on the little town,
the sea, and the
distant, snow-capped
Peaks of Europe,
fiery-streaked in
the light of dawn.
Wisps of smoke
scribble softly on a
blue parchment sky.
A rare yellow-beaked
chough circles in the
sparkling air, seeking
delicacies for its
demanding young.
A stooped, old man
hobbles on cobbles,
bearing home
new-baked bread.
A mother loudly
prompts a child
to rise~ as I,
from my wide-flung
window, embrace
the new-born day.


 26/11/2021

barefoot
on glowing embers
come fire walk with me



 The promise

With the coming of the night
and before I settle into sleep
I will send my words like
raindrops in clouds over
mountains and mornings
to let you know that you
are in my dreams
even though you are
but a moonbeam
draped across
your empty
chair

 25/11/2021

waking...
the sound and fury
of fire mountain





 


POSTCARD FROM COMILLAS
(Comyass) Northern Spain
The heady scent
of mimosa perfumes
the ascending breeze.
Blown tulip petals
drift softly to earth.
Below, overnight rain
steams gently on
the carmine tiles of
medieval houses
huddling together
in narrow streets,
as the early morning
sun gains strength
and smiles kindly
on Comillas.
Nearby a drowsing dog,
rudely awakened,
chastises an infant
wailing for its feed.

On the hill, the
now deserted
university gazes
with empty eyes
on the little town,
the sea, and the
distant, snow-capped
Peaks of Europe,
fiery-streaked in
the light of dawn.
Wisps of smoke
scribble softly on a
blue parchment sky.
A rare yellow-beaked
chough circles in the
sparkling air, seeking
delicacies for its
demanding young.
A stooped, old man
hobbles on cobbles,
bearing home
new-baked bread.
A mother loudly
prompts a child
to rise~ as I,
from my wide-flung
window, embrace
the new-born day.

 24/11/2021

Summer's end
the parchment texture
of leaves





 THOUGHTS OF A RECLINING NUDE

The only sound heard now for forty-five minutes
has been the mechanical click of the clock.
The students are lost in the canvas they’re painting -
except for McGuire, who has got painter’s block.

For Jimmy McGuire has no paint on his brush yet;
he studies me closely with one eye half shut
his thumb held at arm’s length, he’s sighting along it -
expressed concentration but mind full of smut.

He’s telling the tutor that he cannot capture
the decadent curve of my arm on the rest,
or the shadow that’s cast by the tilt of my neck
or the fold in the scarf that is draping my breast.

It’s the end of the session and I’m off to lunch now
and notice in passing McGuire’s tortured nude.
Picasso–like squiggles of squares, lines and circles
in red, black and blue, and distastefully crude.

No doubt after lunching on meat pie and lager,
the pervert will turn up again - dirty snake!
Still..
At the end of the day I’ll be thirty pounds richer
and poxy McGuire can go jump in the lake!

23/11/2021


September morning
all along the river
ghost trees 




 A CHARITA POEM (in six lines)


homecoming...
the moon slips through
the naked branches of the old elm tree
we spend these first moments
listening to the wind whistling
its winter song

22/11/2021

 barely spring
the weight of featherlight
snow




 THE NUN’S STORY


Beyond the gate a tempting glimpse
of verdant pastures and rippling streams,
kept alive the spark of hope that
lit my heart and kindled dreams.

I chose this life while still a child
to serve the Lord with constancy
but age and illness dim the flame
of faith that once burned bright in me.

Just nine are left within these walls
and I am bound by vows and duty.
I must remain until I die,
so I will turn away from beauty.

I’ve watched my sisters one by one
slide into illness, then to death.
No stone is marked to prove they lived
and served the Lord with every breath.

Locked in silence we make our way
to chapel from refectory,
with painful steps and halting gait
to hear the benedictory.

But in my cell at dead of night
my mind returns to childhood days
when I was free to bathe in streams,
and wander through His verdant ways.

 21/11/2021

our quarrel...
a ray of sunshine
passing through







 MY ROSE

Her hair
like tongues of fire
fanned by the breeze,
licks at cornstalks
as she races harum-scarum
through a summer field.
A golden child;
supple as a dancer,
nimble as a stream
she dances to nature’s tune;
head thrown back to
commune with clouds.
At dusk the flame dwindles.
Swinging her high onto
my shoulders I bear
my drooping Rose homeward;
our pockets full of daisies.

 20/11/2021

hospice garden
he takes her for one more turn
around the daisies





 POSTCARD FROM CORNWALL

GUNWALLOE - CHURCH BY THE SEA
Dust motes dithering in slanting shafts
of sunlight, filtered through stained glass.
A sudden draft and rustling leaves
are prancing merrily as they pass.
Phantom spirits, vaguely redolent
of long dead, fervent fisherfolk,
linger here, forever captive;
inhabiting these pews of oak.
New spun webs adorn the pulpit
where vicars gazed; expressions grim,
on Sunday shined and polished boys
impatient for the final Hymn.
Musty smells from well-thumbed hymnals -
a jam jar spilling bright wildflowers,
make this place a blessed haven
to pass a few reflective hours.

 19/11/2021

leaving
in her passing
angel dust



 A cherita poem

sun and rain
my running feet are
mirrored on the pavement
till I am stopped in my tracks
and through my rain-smeared glasses
I see again the wonder of a rainbow

 

18/11/2021

 rain song

deeper into night
a craving for
silence



 A CHERITA POEM (in six lines)

the radiant bride
walks slowly down the aisle
passing the fifth row she frowms
at her little brother
and his best friend
counting their marbles

 17/11/2021

this longing
to revisit my youth...
puddles





 A FALLEN LEAF

Wearied by the nascent journey through
Spring’s garish lime and tender green,
and on to Summer’s energetic dance
of lemon yellow, peach and golden brown;
at last triumphantly to reach the crown
of sweet perfection in a crimson gown.
All passion spent, she swoons,
swings delicately on a hinge,
arcs languidly toward the ground,
gently waving her goodbyes
echoing the warm wind’s sighs.
there, lingering gracefully, she slowly dies.
Her sacrifice is not unwonted;
All such as she - all russet beauties
with graciousness and sweet amore
will wave farewell to summer’s mirth,
then marry with the chocolate earth
to unify and nourish future birth.

16th Nov 21

 failing light
the blanket of silence
deeper and deeper



 COURTSHIP

Black-necked
cranes ride
fast on winter winds,
high above the icy
Himalayan barrier.
On the plateaux of Ladakh
proud ceremonies
of dance occur
brooking no refusal
from the chosen ones;
mincing steps
half-spread wings,
nod, bow, leap,
no motion squandered;
necks extended towards the sky,
their bugle calls, voiced in
synchronicity, create a wall of sound
that stretches
across that
vast arctic desert.





 15/11/2021

navy blue sky merely a concept of falling stars







 GOLDEN DAY

Down the corridors of my mind
you lead me through the labyrinth way.
‘Come, my love, and we will find
again, that treasured, golden day’.


So hand in hand we roam once more
through measured time to a precious year,
when standing on Sorrento’s shore -
the sea still shimmers crystal clear.


And once aboard the yacht we sight
amid the hazy hush of morn,
the shrouded cliffs now tipped with light
in the first rays of the dawn reborn.


So here we pause and time stands still,
the world about recedes to nought.
Encapsulated here we will
tryst yet again with a single thought.


For now the golden moments start,
that halcyon day by Capri’s side
which lingers ever in my heart,
will ever in my mind, abide.

14/11/2021

 somewhere beyond

birdsong greets
a rising sun



 


POSTCARD FROM CORFU

GREEK NIGHT IN THE TAVERNA

Adonis, an 18-year-old Greek God
leads me onto the dance floor.
He smiles – I melt - "I CAN DO THIS!"

Slow, gentle bouzouki music
floats on the balmy evening air.
he smiles again. "I CAN do this!"

Gradually the tempo increases.
Doni’s lithe muscles crouch and spring, ever more frantic.

"I CAN’T do this!"

My ouzo is getting warm! 

 13/11/2021

light shower...
a sparrow and a starling
sharing a bath




 IN PRAISE OF


The voice of Domingo, the art of Van Gogh,
the rose pink flamingo, Shakespeare and Belloc.
circus performers from slim wires suspended
and birds flying freely as nature intended.

Love’s sweet enchantment. - The first light of dawning.
the skylark exultant on a sweet summer morning.
first smile of an infant and - Reggae – Jamaican!
and lemon scent, pungent - and sizzling bacon!

The web of a spider with sky shining through,
the down of the eider - and singing bamboo.
the plopping of raindrops through canopied trees
a gurgling stream or the sigh of a breeze.

a lop-sided scarecrow. - The portent of swallows
a beauteous rainbow and the blue sky that follows.
the laughter of children enthralled by a clown.
the first star of evening and the sun going down.

The sails of a windmill, - Buonarotti’s ‘Pieta’
the singing of violins and musical theatre.
the feel of your hand on my brow when I’m fevered.
the embrace on my skin as the boat turns to windward.

A smile from stranger, pure creamy white doves.
the sensuous feeling of soft doeskin gloves.
A burgeoning Spring – Summer’s long carefree days
the abundance of Autumn – horse-drawn Winter sleighs.

The Lord’s gift of senses all leading me through
a world filled with beauty – sights much loved – and new.

 12/11/2021

nerves stretched
to breaking point
b
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n
g
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