Some arsenic waltz requiems a love monocarpic
Blooming ornamental and disinclined to entwine
With twine-strangled support at stake, and leaning just the one way
Scant nurture from that day forth ‘til that day gifted by fondest folks
Rarely remarked, just perennially card-marked
A stork’s brutal fly-past, as two scores ceremony no celebration
For a living, not a loving, sought
That sparse-nourished symbiont is blighted, dead-headed and hard-pruned to a vestige
Those paper pledges mocked to mulch the soil of a salt-watered bed
Where there was little hardy about those hearts’ bonds
Suppressed and un-weeded ‘til nothing much rosy remained
Legend’s tale told 5 bushels
through copse to maze
in Summer’s haze
my Fool in motley mind prances
to scatter distraction ‘neath trunk to root
and dig a diamond’s glimmer
to pierce clouds
Uncommon Britons sire legend and play Spirit’s forbear
Feeding fortunes afar in a tenured holding small,
Or, as strong-built wader no boat can bear,
Cresting waves to the canvassed court of an imperial heart
Noble heads both host feast and merriment
With fay-brewed draughts from a poet’s inexhaustible cauldron
For one a ship’s-depth of quenching, the other sips of hope for a homestead
One briefly dwelled a palace pledged for spoils
Crown bent to prophesy, removed, now fending feud
With Gallic gaze ‘neath invader’s walls of white
Ours, proud protector, broad shoulder-borne and poised in honour still
Hod-bearing a hearth, built strong in bonds more familial than feudal
Drawing loyalty from blood not booty
To battle likeminds instead on fields of play
Twin countrymen’s voices raised sonorous in God’s-own booming pitch
‘gainst supernatural Dwarven-echo from mountains black
Both barding coal-fletched thought and memory on Tower-dweller’s wing
They are the best of men, both Uther Ben.
for such thou are
my splendid Ma
Like the garden therein
you tended – where you retire
where you retired
An impression – a fugitive form
fading in day’s light
sought in night dream
dreamed in daylight
now out of sight
but excitedly glimpsed
in bordered setting, standing
no mounted mask
but a portal to past
Loyally sought in all before
no redundancy glazes and
you’re sincerely missed
by my father’s faithful son.
Seething Writers – 26/09/16
Turn back and regard, that which has passed.
A time when the mind could be with the future yet, indignant,
it stays reliving a life apart.
The muslin‑haze of a doubt redundant is swept aside
to draw a sight unwavered,
and the heart unfurls with the rising sun
of Great Summer past, present, and still to come.
The evening beams as a journey continues;
the blue sky’d hope a foil to the decay that is the bequest of profit.
The sight of the graves beckons hope rather than grief,
chill stones as testament to the pilgrim’s faith,
rites on a journey never‑ending.
The cleansing of rainsting, a purge to shackled remembrance,
the lacklustre postures of a character too tempered.
The chapel light, a beacon in the New Town numbness
a single‑cell legacy of a, once encompassing, certainty.