poetry diary

Fantasia

Your mind’s touch is gentle, subtle;
reaching through the mirages,
images of my soul,
disturbing its core.

In between the long, slow beats of my heart,
after we part.

Your eyes are quick and bright, speaking
amusement or puzzlement,
to mine, each chance meeting,
across your warm hearth.

Through grey, tired days, my footsteps lead always
back to your door.

Your face, soft, ever welcoming,
fixed in my mind; two spirits,
longing for more space, time
to be and explore.

When next I return, I dream of roses,
and you, alone.

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Nottingham Castle

Only the burning remains:
blackened stones and silent rock –
gatehouse to nowhere.

This is a land of half-myth;
rebels and oppressive lords –
lost in leaves and fog.

Reality is stranger;
original democrats –
rioting for votes.

Like Cairo today, they cared
and acted against the odds –
looking for better.

Manicured grass and dark stones;
neither one thing nor the other –
today’s castle sleeps.

Robin Hood was more open;
confronting evil with hope –
he led from the front.

Nottingham castle was burned down by the citizens of the town in 1832, rioting for the right to vote. I was born and brought up there, so know it well.

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Haiku – the end of the day

My child’s eyelids, soft,
filled with trust as I leave her,
each winter evening.

This poem was inspired by wewritepoems prompt 42 – a safe place. I feel her bed is a safe place for my daughter, and it’s always an emotional experience kissing her goodnight.

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London at night

People like poems trapped
in concrete forms, stacked and packed;
at night, cosily,
just as in Roman times;
safe from northern barbarians,
and warm.

Fizz of passing cars,
not impressing odd couples
walking and talking.
Concrete paths, rain-wet still;
light-washed and purposed, echoing,
just me.

Such a great city;
at night, you’re almost human,
barbarian though
I be.

Walking back to my hotel through Shoreditch.

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I am all of the world today, tonight;
dancing clouds and watching trees, that white rose.
I am your hair, her eyes, his shoes, this light;
spinning girls and laughing boys, beer that flows.
I am in love with me and all of you;
snails that slide, birds that fly, to where they will.
I am these stones, that moss, those stars; you too
are part of me and me of you (sit still!)
So long I sought beyond, outside, above.
So long I felt my voice the only one.
So long I thought I was alone in love.
So long I dreamed I should be moving on.
I was so wrong, the world is not discrete;
we all are one and so am I complete.

This is a response to wewritepoems prompt 40, to write a Valentine’s Day poem to yourself. It’s also a variation on the theme of my last poem (worldly love) below, or possibly the other way round (I started this one first but finished it second). It’s my second attempt at a sonnet – after Aubade/Feb 1.

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February 15, 2011

Worldly love

I am the world.
Breathe on me,
and let rolling mists gently cup
soft curving turf.

I am the world.
Dream of me,
and feel cliffs dissolve, fade to sands,
fall under surf.

I am the world.
Spin with me,
through sunbeams to see stars break
dust from their hold.

I am the world.
Caress me now
and love me. Stroke me and shake me
till mountains unfold.

A little poem for Valentine’s Day, written late at night in a hotel in London where I’m at a conference.

9 Comments

February 12, 2011

New Mills, Derbyshire

Architecture of purpose and industry;
I like canals between buildings:
brick against water, shaping nature,
lapping gently – peaceful now.

Two ducks and a plastic bag, floating.

Buildings that tell of many hands:
silly sheds at impossible angles;
added for Harold, who counted the coals.
Ladders for lads, and storage for boats.

Moss growing between the slabs, waiting.

Chimneys without hearts, lonely,
and so many windows, empty:
again and again – admitting light
still, to silent mill floors.

Rental and for sale signs, fading.

The people came, and remain.
Stoic houses worship forsaken mills
reflected in the quiet waters
of yesterday’s canals.

Awaiting salvation.
Who am I to say it will never come?

Images

1 Comment

February 12, 2011

Corfe Castle, Dorset

Long, dark breaths surround you,
Desecrated, ruined towers.
You came with horses and men;
bent on violence, rape and war.

Drawn in by gentle slopes:
rich rolling curves and soft warm shoulders;
dew-fresh earth, dark and moist;
surf pounding, driving underneath.

Walls built for domination;
erect and proud against the sky.
short-lived all, time caresses:
stones tumble, lie still where they fall.

Quiet hills whisper mists;
absorbing and dissolving strength.
Long, dark breaths surround you,
desecrated, ruined towers.

Image

4 Comments

February 7, 2011

The possibility of you

Even the possibility of you
is gone now. We dreamt of love together
in the snow. You kissed me. I felt we knew
a secret pathway – each to another,
long lost and sought. Others saw, quietly;
speaking only with their eyes, and smiling.
I liked that. So gently told and softly,
your words flowed, and heart ranged, always yearning.
I was naïve. Ambition cannot stop
unsettled pasts, chasing wakes, catching up,
and unvoiced fears rise at last to the top;
I just wish the end had not been so abrupt.
You have made sure. The possibility
of you, is gone now.