A NIGHTINGALE IN THEE
Its most wondrous right how
thee speaketh to mine own heart,
without declaring a word,
thee did touch mine own heart,
and dumb mine own fledgling soul.
The memo in thy smileth,
deliv’rs right,
what to beest in loveth with thee,
to loveth thee,
very much means.
Am I dreaming?
‘r else am mining?
Thou art mine own loveth
Am thy doveth.
Mine own empress,
am thy highness.
Am bethinking,
our palace,
shall beest by the side
and standeth in solace
by side
of the Lord’s house .
A dead sir can waketh up to spy on our story.
Categories:
bethinking, 2nd grade, 3rd grade,
Form: Rhyme
Tim Remembers
Tim is a member of the club of life
with all its nonsense vagaries and beauty
pitfalls up-shoots conflicts contradictions
Dismembered or conjoined he has a choice
is privileged to have a working mind
emotions and a quest for wholesome soul
Yet memories become suppressed untold
forgotten where they want to surface
need to unfold for proper understanding
At times what pains the most is necessary
however hard the demons of the past cast
their murky sordid and unwanted challenges
Remembering bethinking recollecting yields
rewards when mere suppression teases
dismisses from consciousness the seed to grow
Freud speaks of mechanisms of defence
Jung wants to harmonise all polar opposites
the street sweeper in Momo’s story knows alike
What Tim wishes to think no more of is what
he has to tackle if only so in order to forgive
where others and he himself have harmed so often
01st October 2018
Categories:
bethinking, memory,
Form: Free verse