Poems

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RAIN

Does a ring around the moon mean rain is coming soon?

Let it rain, let it fall
We will love it even more

We live in Death valley don t you see
So rain we will invite with glee

We will bath in it and dance
Though we are not human, only plants

But life is in us still
Life is life, in human or elsewhere

 

 


 

CHILD IN THE ORCHARD

A little child just passing through
Running through the walled apple trees
Happy and joyful among the sloping field

What has become of you?
Where are you and what are you doing?
Now that you must be grown

Still wearing red wellies and running free?
Usually that field is empty
Only once I saw a child, same as me

Were you real or just a dream?
A child the same as me

I wished I could have played with you
Seeming free and happy
Like an eternal joy
Shinning on, ahead to adventure

But then we had to grow

I move away away from sweet Gloucestershire
Though when I pass through it,
I still look to that field
With the crumbled old walled orchard

But never again have I seen that child
Playing and running free
Running with hands outstretched
Happily through the apple trees


 

 

MEDIA MONSTER

This crazy world
Recurring mistakes and madness
Trying to seek greatness
While not noticing the weeds

Many weeds are beautiful
Just not tended in a conventional or cultured place
Not a popular garden flower
And who decides what is accepted?

It is all around us
In the oblong shape in our living rooms
Stacked against shelves in shops and supermarkets

In the clothes we see and wear
The super slim girls
And the style of their hair

The beautiful famous people
We wonder if they are real
They seem to have everything
I wonder, is that how they feel?

We strive to fit in and get on ahead
While we are told what we need, how to look, what to buy

Its manipulation is so subtle
You often cannot see the lies


Six years ago today
Nineteenth of July, a Sunday

A golden light shines
Rays of blue and gold

Crowd stood stunned and silent

To be present then and remember it now
The secret smile,
The look
The heart

So keep this with you all the time
To feel the joy
Create with it, don’t stop
Feel that light and never go dark


 

 

A HOME OF SORTS

With my mother
Our home is an old cooker
Rotting and rusting
In the woods

The heart feels empty
No feeling of comfort or safety

We live in a broken cooker
Among the trees

But nothing is lost
When it was never there
Though something is missing still


 

CHANGING TIDES

Frequent Storms, more have they been,
Now where the sun grows strong
The time when we can hide away has gone on for too long

Expose to all the reality of what there is to be
What will become of this old world
When there is only one last tree

There is some hope, of course there is
Its not the end at all
but those who control and own the most
want power even more

And blinded by this love of power and blinded by their greed
They do not see the struggling souls trying to meet their every need

The crying orphan without a home and cuddles to keep warm
The hungry child holds its mothers hand,
with no means to grow food on taken lands.

They do not matter to them you see, as from them there is no profit
Not unless they need more workers to pay a pittance to
While they reap all the benefits

And so it goes on, what will become,
of this old world then?

Of course, there is some hope one day
That those in power will see,  though it may be far too late
When they gaze on that last tree
Then stillness, and a silence may reign


 

 

TREE

Strong and Tall

Through ages you have stood

Three hundred years or more

Seasons fell upon you

Winds have caressed you

World changed around you

While you stood silent



A poem I wrote about Caldey Island, just off the coast of Tenby, which is home to a monastery of Cistercian monks .

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