They judge your silence, or your sound,
Not that they hear nor listen much,
The way you live makes them astound
And so the like to keep a grudge.
But they don’t realise it’s them
Who are the sinners as they stay
In loveless marriages, and damn
Their pointing fingers and dismay.
Let no one tell you not to love,
but leave the narrow-minded town.
Look up, and keep your head above.
Let no one ever bring you down!
Inspired by ‘This Be the Verse’ by Philip Larkin. I did a sort of do it yourself workshop in poetry I suppose 🙂
My dear friend David Agnew (Belfastdavid) from Whitby, England, is the author of this beautiful new poetry book that you can order through Amazon, Lulu and various other sites (just google🙂 )
Paperback, 82 Pages Prints in 3-5 business days
“The significance of David’s recent poetry rests in its everydayness, finding poems in the way we get through our days. By exploring issues that are not always the issues and incidents that make up poetry, his poems take on a collective meaning that reaches deep into the human spirit.” – Tom Davis.
“In the pace of a calm whisper the poetry of David Agnew shows us sides of ordinary life we often miss: the funny side, the deep side, the understatement. Years of living and a talent for details make this poet write surprisingly, uniquely, about every day situations in such a persuasive way. Whitby citizens will be proud of this poetry in honour of their town!” – Ina Schroders-Zeeders.
I hope you will get a copy.
How do I know
when time is right,
what matters most,
how to express?
I have forgotten those skills
and a funeral
when all was for granted
and I took it as such.
A hand on my knee
would mean: let us go,
but how do I know
what it means in new language,
on a double reclining chair
and my feet losing ground?
There may be a sign
but I’ll probably miss it,
these times are confusing
but I’m up for part two.
How do I know
that I’m alright for living,
and my stumbling on
will be a marching again?
(Whitby, 29 September 2016)
Left on her own
a few weeks after the funeral
she realised life
is not a line
but more so
it is a circle
and the curve
is just about right.
Finding a rhythm
she discovered a new world,
and new eyes, new fingers
as she moved the ring
from one hand to the other
so it would rest above her own
and it didn’t fall,
it did not get lost.
Cut off my limbs, torn out my heart –
no it feels worse, a toothache rotting into bone.
Alone, a borrowed dog, a caged blue bird and me.
You should not, but you do: you kindly fade away,
so out of reach, beyond control,
your legacy keeps changing colours.
Sometimes I think you spoke
of love in Spanish.
I need to grow new arms, new legs, new memories,
become a newer creature.
Apart from you I’m not myself it seems.
Saturday 28 May we had a wonderful time in Midsland, Terschelling, performing and reading poetry. And two wonderful musicians (not in the photo) accompanied the poems.
On the evening of Saturday 19 March my brave and beloved husband
Toussaint Schroders has died from cancer. He was 67 years old.
He died at home, we were there with him.
He will be buried Thursday 24 March here on Terschelling.