Afield Poems

Scarecrows

Scarecrows stand afield
their torsos crafted of straw
but they don’t scare crows

Dew Fresh Morn

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                                             Dew Fresh Morn

                                    With dawn of dew fresh morn
                                                 A smiling sun
                                           Gilds the clear horizon
                                                Behind the hills
                                      Spreads sparks of hope afield
                                                  And is on run
                                            Across the azure sky
                                              To shine with thrill!

Our Better Angels

Our better angels, where have they flown?
Far afield, in a storm, windblown?
And where, the light, where wisdom shone?
If only we could see. 

The answer, it seems to me, is unknown, 
as the land is in a tempest, thrown. 
Without their grace, I feel alone, 
Give them back to me.

the end of security

the end safety

No modern weaponry can stop this brutal onslaught.
The Med is far from here, where the Atlantic breeze is cooling
we who do not travel watch the fire with awe
Further afield, people have too much water and drown and
become refugees trying to find a safe place.
Are there any safe places left?
Those who think their country is secure will not share
it with the driftwood coming to their shores.
California is burning villas made of timber as matchboxes
For the rich to feel the heat, does it make them kinder?
Of course, it has nothing to do with us who live 
where the breeze from the North Atlantic is cooling.
In this time of life, the pandemic is just the beginning
of a total breakdown of the world we knew, the day may
come when Outer Mongolia is a relatively safe place to go
as it has no flooding to speak of but has plenty of drugs
to pass the time while waiting for a fire to reach us.

Rivers Jumps Our Banks

Households unhitch, clapperboard hulls creaking -
the sound of storm-lashed rigging, as washing lines
and telephone wires twist
netting loosening foundations.

Where we once believed roots gripped bedrock,
planks bob in the swell, chests and their drawers
billow and fill.

Bed-springs gape, cupboards
turn inside out, what surfaces
is the face-up exposure
of our everyday innards.

Even as mailboxes are torn away,
we refuse to believe that a river and some wind
could move our lives so a far afield,

or that this world was really in fact,
just this shipwreck on a shore
that is always moving.

What we once thought of
as an address,
has turned out to be only a buoy
on an ever-moving wave.

Hidden In The Hollow

Hidden In The Hollow
                        Of His Blessed Hand;
Never Foe Can Follow
                      Never Traitor Stand;

Every Surge A Flourish
                        Every Strength Appear;

Afield To Blast With Hurry,
                                Touch The Spirit,
                                                      There, There, .... There!

A Poetic Journey Through American History

Aboriginal tribes, ancient and free,
Bold explorers sailed ‘cross the vast sea.
Colonial dreams, a new world’s birth,
Devout pilgrims, a holy rebirth.
Emancipation’s fight, a nation’s test,
Freedom’s beacon, forever the best.
Great minds convened, a framework to frame,
Human rights secured, liberty’s aim.
Immense territory, a nation’s expanse,
Joint efforts waged, a defiant stance.
Keen Monroe Doctrine, a hemispheric shield,
Land’s westward march, a battle afield.
Mining for fortune, a golden desire,
Nation divided, a civil fire.
Ordeal endured, a nation’s renewal, 
Powerful industry, of immense capital.
Quest for reform, a progressive age,
Raging World War, a historic stage.
Suffering nation, a desperate plight,
Transformation’s hope, a guiding light.
United we stand, a global might,
Voices united, a civil right.
War’s tragic toll, a nation’s strife,
Xenophobia’s stain, a troubled life.
Yearly sorrow, a nation’s wound,
Zero tolerance, a pandemic’s sound.

Unrequited

I was once a Romeo
In gallant quest of romantic love.
For sake of which I wandered far afield,
Past mills and quarries, foundries and farms 
Where good folk tend their business 
And useful things get done. 
As spring gave way to winter, 
I found the climate daunting, 
With freeze and thaw displacing by upheaval 
My belief in happily ever after.
My confirmations became suspicioned, 
And my satisfaction curiosified.
My ratifications were soon dutifully amended 
And my achievements ambitioned
To a more sensible view of reality.
Having suffered hard time in the punishment block,
Where one’s thoughts then tend 
To either stagnate or germinate,
I arrived at this one eternal paradox: 
Only fools dare ever fall in love,
While only love can save the foolish from themselves.

Beach nymphs

.
   From toes unto nose's lip
               alopesia
                 rrrrrr
             there'z not 
                  one
           from the other
                  save
              their romp

             The breeze 
   It's free gift from the sea
     their diaphanous wrap 
             mine -holic

     Down mine sails went
          az mine anchor
               SPLASH
         into the wet salt
                  az i
          Mine eccentric

                Stroke
                stroke
                stroke
            off my went
           afield the sea
           hand in hand
            unto theirn 
              bucholic


* bucholic; my 'Portmanteau' for, bucolic
   and -holic < a suffix forming noun
   indicating a person having an abnormal 
   desire for or dependence on, e.g. workaholic ;)
* pronounced: boo'k hol'ik

Reigning In

You may conquer
on horseback
but to rule
must dismount
Pandora
lies waiting
new blood
for the fount

Napoleon
Attila
Augustus
afield
The vanquished
in chaos
till order
—congeals

(Dreamsleep: October, 2023)

Jagged

Bella Luna blemished with jagged face
Craters and debris of beauty no trace
Midnight sky golden globe rides high
On earth we see vision and softly sigh.

Luna mystery is at last revealed
When man walked surface so far afield
Moon dust and rocks blemished dead face
Revealed reality cannot be erased

Magical moon that rotates by our side
Regret for all dreams its mystery died
From far off distance presenting perfection
Jagged facade smoothed no imperfection.

Holiday Paradise

Holiday Paradise

is burning Rhodes is surrounded by invading fires and blue sea
no modern weaponry can stop this brutal onslaught.
The Med is far from here, where the Atlantic breeze is cooling
we who do not travel watch the fire with awe
Further afield, people have too much water the drown and
become refugees trying to find a safe place.
Are there any safe places left?
Those who think their country is secure will not share
it with the driftwood coming to their shores.
California is burning villas made of timber are matchboxes
For the rich to feel the heat, but does it make them kinder?
Of course, it has nothing to do with us, we who live in a place 
where the breeze from the North Atlantic is cooling.
In this time of life, the pandemic is just the beginning 
of a total breakdown of the world we knew, the day may 
come, when Outer Mongolia is a relatively safe place to go
as it has no flooding to speak of but has plenty of drugs
to pass the time while waiting for a fire to reach us.

N Is For Nature a Happening

The wood pigeon awoke on her roosting perch,
fluttered with a nervous jerk;
warilysearching for sustenance,
above the peregrine made a fateful entrance.

The winter harsh and icy cold,
driven far from its familiar fold,
seeking food further afield 
to an urban garden that might increase its yield.

Under a biting wintry sky 
the short tailed falcon hovered high,
an efficient killer from above,more than a 
match for pigeon or dove.

Taking its chosen meal in flight,
swooping sudden from a great height,
the momentum imprinting our window pane,
her throat slashed she soon was slain.

Talons sunk deep into the pigeons chest 
this finicky eater pecked at head and breast.
The lawn strewn leavings of a ravenous raptor,
as nature's journal leafs another chapter.

Vanishing Point

Far beyond the supermarket workers and the gardeners building their own allotments, the boy soldiers and the coal-miners with dusty lungs, the women helping mould silver bullets for wars and the ministers off with their leather bound Bibles walking through jungles, past the jolly sailor, the fish-wife and the cook. All carrying their little note book.
The blacksmith and the hunter come back again, over the gulf to hunt through the flamey caves, with their knife and the deer.
And somewhere further afield, the star shines bright, the clasp fastens together our tiny pearls, egg to egg through the mother.
A cluster of gemstones rolled, and still rolling, milky marbles on every continent's slant floors, hungry snowballs, gathering photos of diamonds, postcards and jobs, gathering qualifications, silver-grey hairs and snubs, and forgetting, as those who came before us forgot, to bless those who brought us here, who passed us the torch and stepped back. Now we are brighter flames, but not with fire, with the beauty of knowledge.

If Not Burning

If not burned 

 Hellas is burning the Athens is surrounded by invading fires 
 no modern weaponry can stop this brutal onslaught.
 Greece is far from here, where the Atlantic breeze is cooling
it doesn’t concern us, should it?
Further afield, people have too much water the drown and
become refugees trying to find a safe place.
Are there any safe places left?
Those who think their country is secure will not share
it with the driftwood coming to their shores.
California is burning villas made of timber are matchboxes
for the rich to feels the heat, but does it make them kinder.
Of course, it has nothing to do with us, we who live in a place 
where the breeze from the north Atlantic is cooling.
In this time of life, the pandemic is just the beginning 
of a total breakdown of the world we knew, the day may 
Come when Afghanistan is a relatively safe place to go
as it has no flooding to speak of but has plenty of drugs
to pass the time while waiting for a fire to reach us.

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