“This wall, built of bricks Breaks my spirit and my bones Life’s hurdles are hard” … This Wall (a Senryu May 3rd, 2025)
Arriving and Leaving, Visiting Her
arriving via the cemetery gate holding her flowers hands quivering heart quickens bowing silently reminiscing smiling wondering why closing time and visiting time co-exist in life
leaving via the cemetery path renewing goodbyes crying silently breathing slowly smiling wondering why closing time and visiting time co-exist in life
Today’s Throwback poem was written before I started my website and is from June 2012, not long after Carole passed away (13 years ago tomorrow). For unexplainable reasons, the nostalgic piece has not found its way into any of my “3 books”. Maybe this unheralded poem will prompt me to complete my fourth book!
Where’s That Dream
I have seen the universe through to the stars beyond There is a deep darkness, she is gone, she is gone I saw her smile crack from the pain There was a sorrow, she caught it tomorrow
I have seen the moon through the burning sun Where is that planet she is walking on? I saw her eyes crying tears of sand Where is that beach she is lying on?
I have seen the ocean through the broken coral Where is that ship she is sailing on? I saw her body serene and frail Where are the ashes she is covered in?
I have seen the earth open, swallowing the multitude whole Where is that chasm she is falling through? I saw her gentle soul disappear out of sight Where is that secret haven she is flying to?
I have seen the land go through violent storms Where are the winds of time she is spread upon? I saw her heart, her love, for all of you and me Where is that dream she has left us to find?
A special poem I wrote, after I’d taken my Lady to the hospital for the last time, on the day of her 65th birthday, thirteen years ago.
Hello Carole, time goes by, and my heart has not moved …
Under The Snow
We emanate to a birthday. We deflate to a final day. Birthdays, they all come, they all go. Birthdays, in the sunshine, under the snow. Birthdays, slow to mature, quickly an eon. Birthdays, before we are born, after we are gone. Birthdays, hanging on by a breath. Birthdays, nailed to a cross ’til death. What does it all mean to be alive and cry? What does it all mean to live and to die?
Hello, dear readers and followers. I write for Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) fortnightly, and my poem “Oh, My Waning Moon”is in this week’s edition. … To read my poem, please click on the link below to visit the article, at Coffee House Writers Magazine. >> https://coffeehousewriters.com/oh-my-waning-moon/
Over at Weekly Prompts, The Weekend Challenge is the word Absence. Please visit their fabulous site by clicking on >> HERE
Imaginary Bookcases and Bootlaces
In the absence Of any commonsense I’m here talking in mime About my memories and rhymes From behind my imaginary bookcase And wearing a quirky poet’s face
This is my ordained place Where I bravely embrace The unpredictable pace In this dysfunctional race
Then I cautiously retrace My creations’ underground faces From the days of waterlogged bootlaces
