Posts tagged ‘poetry’

Don’t fool the fool

Don’t fool the fool with foolish gems;
He is too wise to understate,
Too happy for the words to mind.
Don’t fool the fool with foolish gems.

Don’t leave in Autumn for a better place,
See it through, the rain and storm,
Be like a fool and do not care.

There is a peace in turmoiled mind,
Acceptance of a higher kind
Only a fool can understand.
Don’t leave in Autumn for a better place.

Be too wise to understand.
Let words be such when nothing rhymes,
Don’t fool the fool with foolish gems.

As such. You are too wise to understand.
Accept me as the fool who minds.
Don’t leave me now it’s Autumn.

 

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The ruins

The start of a life is a brick to a building, many more to follow
though the house is never complete. It needs a balcony for better views,
an attic to forget, a cellar for hiding, an extension or two after each surgery,
a garden to bury in.

And then the whole thing collapses, the ruins taken over
by oblivious weeds. Such are the streets our minds wander off to
in deep of nights, awaiting anaesthesia.

Shadows

Some shadows give a preview of the dark,
Tree leaves dancing on a kitchen floor,
An omen for the day the tree is dead.

We need no more proof that all is our imagination,
We are here; the tree is not, yet do we see it move.
I’m here for now. My shadow has its own life to continue.

Visiting the ruins

We are in the abbey with no roof, yet
seconds before they disappear behind limestone pillars,
monks can be seen, disguised as seagulls,
chanting words can be heard, a murmur of Latin prayers,
mistaken for the roar of the North Sea.

When I make a photo of you looking over the harbour,
standing next to you is an astonished man
with a tonsure of a Benedict
who opens his mouth in the way of Munch’s Scream
but I only hear Kittiwakes yell and his wife calling him Pete.

I capture your smile outside the abbey. You face the tea room.
Behind you in the abbey continuing prayers,
chanting, movements of medieval life.

Nothing of the ordinary

Sometimes I wonder if you ever think of me,
Remember afternoons we spent together.
Your silence goes so well with grieve and distance,
Are memories not lies in many ways?

I ought to integrate the people we both met there,
Or the ones who should have been perhaps,
To give the whole experience a twist, a change,
To make it more mundane and practical, like  daily cups and saucers.

letters

opening the box, the letters you once wrote
drop out.
all that is left for me to remember
are the white gaps, now pale brown, in which
i make up your thoughts as i presume they were, but the edges
of the pages are darker, and crisp, and fall apart.

reading the past is drinking dust, choking
on every line that has gone, you
are most of all dead in your letters. your eyes
follow me around in the room
as i close the box
for later.

Trust

Breathe the air unseen
And fit into the water;
The Earth won’t drop you.

Dream the rain, eyes closed,
Hear steps become a river
Where fish go, seabound.

Let your feet touch sand,
Smell light as you walk down
Unseen. Leave for now.

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