Monday, December 05, 2011
An Angry Hour
It is an angry hour.
Ocean spume strafes sentinel rocks
as storm winds shred the day.
Tamarisk cowers before a ruthless gale,
timid in its delicate beauty.
Shingle shivers, chattering loudly
with each icy wave that assaults the shore;
above, furious clouds
battle for attention in a swirl of indecision,
weeping with anger for peace lost.
However, anger is but a fleeting wound
in an eternal promise of perfection,
healed by rainbows and the coming of light.
Ah. . .all is well.
The Hands of Time
Hold my hand my darling,
it trembles a little now.
It is no longer pretty,
yet you hold it so lovingly;
your touch more comfortable now,
gentle and light,
less possessive, more cherishing.
Our hands have shorter lifelines
but longer memories.
They have wiped away tears of sadness
and tears of joy.
They have caressed the new-born and
pointed the path , right from wrong.
With their partners,
they have applauded endeavour and achievement
in equal measure;
thanked the Lord for his blessings
and prayed for his mercy.
But right now my darling,
just hold my hand,
then I shall be holding the whole world
in my palm.
Friday, August 26, 2011
They are leaving me
They are leaving me,
the faithful leaves of summer;
waving their goodbyes,
they fly in golden crowds
on greedy Autumn winds
to endless sleep in miry earth.
I shall mourn among the
naked, shivering trees
who face the winter blast alone,
doubting the certainty
of another Summer.
I shall miss the swallows
and their skimming dance;
they have slipped away,
through winter’s icy fingers,
South, to warmer clime.
Orion’s place
beside a Hunter’s moon
defines the frosty dawn,
my firefly evenings, warm and soft,
become nothing but a dream.
Then snow will fall,
its soft white veil enshroud the season’s gloom.
Lakes of ice will catch the moon and sun,
while skidding winter birds
bring smiles to tots whose hands
throw breakfast crumbs.
Fires will warm our souls,
faces glow and hope will be renewed;
enlightenment will cheer,
for Spring is just a sleeping seed away,
and I shall know. . .
all is well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)