A mackerel sky fillets a fish scaled village,
an ear clapping, full sailed, fog
moors itself to the rooftops,
then hides all in a breezeless blear.
Rheumy eyes peep out from nets,
damp noses sniff abaft trawling drapes.
Cloth in hand, potbellied proprietors
battle the splatter and spray,
dabbing at mildewed shelves,
warding away slopping waders
and salty puddles.
On the sightless sea
far beyond the shore and shingle,
fog horns are lowing like lost cattle.
Later, misty reeks will be scoured
from groggy docks,
hauling hands will rope together
the tide-tossed salvage
by and by, squeaky boots
may trudge to taprooms
where codgers and callow alike
can be well oiled
and duly quenched.
Coddle my wounds as you once had done
So unearthly spirit, do your lips quiver the names of all you had pained hither
The wicker of my wallowing moon, do you see, so speak
If one had been held from whence my end had discovered,
From whence none shall recover,
Had you seen, so spoke, every bludgeoned apology struck parched upon your fallaced lips,
Yet none to touch, none to see,
Ever poignant word that had struck e'er so deep within me,
So see my tears, so weep upon these fears,
Had lapped upon the sand, drenched and disfigured with every clear blear of word
Had you seen, so had you spoke
Would you then succumb to every fear
Bleating upon the cognitive recognition of childhood
So hold me now
Here, as you had once done.
(without fear)
Who should console my soul forlorn
When traces linger of your grace?
When wake I to a des'late morn
And left so pining your embrace?
With blear of eyes, your visage fades
As sleep abandons me anon.
Your form receding to the shades,
And lo! I blink and you are gone!
No truer love was there for me
Than love that was your gentle heart.
And by our Garden's sanctity
I vowed that we shall never part!
My eyes accursed to open so,
And you not crossing past the gate.
To where your essence cannot go,
To where I suffer well as wake!
Oh, that I may pluck out my eyes
As bribe to him who guards all rest!
And all the world of waking dies
As gain to me who gains you best!
And never shall I see you weep
Amongst our Garden's deathless blooms
No eyes to ever wake my sleep,
No gate to part us ever soon.
Are you yearning for me, dear?
Does our departure kill you too?
The environs look so blear,
Midst summer, in my eyes, there's dew...!
You might not feel it within,
There's a blazing fire in me;
In my flesh and blood and skin,
Can you hear my sorrow-filled plea...?
Gales and storms compete,
Coal-dust wraps roses and lilies;
The wheat field is a black sheet,
Who changed the shade of these chilies?
Sobs, like coos, are heard from far,
Your voice, too, is mingled in them;
In the sky, I find no star,
Poison fills each plant root and stem...!
Seasons have changed now brightly,
Come, dear, let's forget our breaches;
Let our oneness turn knightly,
Till our goal its zenith reaches...!
The waves of anguish touched her feet...
Oh!She could not feel the heat,,,,
Her emotions reached the pitch of saturation...
And she could get the vibe of regression,,,,
Thoughts of pessimism annihilated her fortitude...
But she merrily enclasped the pith of solitude,,,
The circumambient moarned and the sunshine began to blear...
The clouds gathered and the thunder geared,,,
Am I writing you, dear?
I do terribly fear,
'Cause everything I write;
Seem, often, very blear,
With my own words I fight...!
Am I writing you, dear?
Within me I do cheer,
When I truly bloom forth;
Though I seem to be mere,
Instrument, one might loath...!
Am I writing you, dear?
Are you my mailing peer?
Matters should turn lesson;
Though each and every year,
This life seems true heaven...!
Am I writing you, dear?
Though I'm not truly drear,
I have my worth living;
Hence, all these start to bear,
Name of God, forgiving...!
11 April 2022
Mottled wings spear the air,
a grey flash and splintering.
Stream lined heads sharply applied
as if the wind itself tore through
openings in the sky.
The birds circle and swoop,
dive and free-fall, tumble & soar,
spiral high, riding a rollercoaster
of avian ecstasy.
We, the heavy-footed,
chase with our lenses,
aiming to catch these flickering arrows -
most capture only a blurring blear.
Whoever reacts ahead of a second-thought
may snatch an image,
as their swift jiggering flights
leave us standing
momentarily turned to stone.
That sense of paranoia,
Shaking your hands with fear,
After the lecturer draws near,
Feeling the nerves, your eyes blear,
At that time you can't see clear,
You're afraid of differing one year.
She approaches and takes a peep,
Sees the phone as you're trying to beep,
You hear her saying zero is what you'll reap,
Thanks to your neighbor; he's a friend to keep,
He joins and claims the phone's ownership,
Leaving the lecturer confused like a sheep.
©Kelmwa
One has to be aware of the wandering moon,
sometimes still caressing near the bluish noon.
Measures of days signified by the queen of night,
bowing to deities over wide water shores to all might.
Bringing forward the blessings to the forgotten dream,
providing save passage to that purpose keen.
Beyond the ideal towards enchanted goods,
where more is meant that meet all mental foods.
In service high to touch that hermitage,
where faintest stars in still, are the majestic judge.
Signs of symbols reflecting infolded spheres,
slowly revealing agents of necessities coming to years.
Turning moon time table to the perfect fit,
intimate hands that speak the voice to submit.
The waning and waxing phase through daily mansions,
nocturnal mother and her love expansions.
To cover the eyes that blear feeble illusion,
creating integrity with firm conclusion.
Sweet echo calling from many lives with omens,
melodies that sustain the purity of emotions.
References from recorded certainties with its bliss,
pensive meditation and treasures from the dark abyss.
up a steep and narrow road
reach the tops
wilderness reclaims a verge
of wintery snags
land juts and tilts
hauls out
lays treeless
clumps and hags
pitch up stricken soil
heap above the miry troughs
loud the heartbeat
nearer to feral thought
then any mouth or ear
swale and quag dawdle
appear to seep listless
no
every bog tunnels shrouded
to fetch up the feckless
harsh and gorsy
heather treading low
the moors mark nothing
only a head of gnashing wind
a whipping dinosaurs tail
blear and chill
bites and grapples
a stone-tusked marl
crofts under
tangles of un-spun fleece
in barb and thistle
sheep piss in running rivulets
thread through
mizzle-pecked rocks
inscribed
by whatever tortures the air
ravens picket grit edges
wings beating back the below
primal caws that lift and speak
for the standing stones
their harrowing
lime-cuffed history
before light founders deeper
black anvils appear
in the lowering
a scant anchoring
a bare farrowing
shorn and scoured aloft
by miles of orbiting
beauty
twenty years later
son sends pictures
of moors long traipsed
the sky in my phone howls
A mackerel sky fillets the village
then hides it in a breezeless blear.
Heads poke out of net drapes
sniff and fish behind trawling curtains.
Shopkeepers brace for
wet dog splatter and spray
from slopping boots and salty puddles.
On the sight-seeing sea
far beyond the shore and shingle,
lost fog horns are lowing deep
like colicky cattle.
Later, misty reeks will be scoured
from groggy docks.
Hauling hands will rope together
tide-tossed tubs,
then tired feet will trudge to taprooms
where the brackish parts
of codgers and young alike
can be oiled and quenched.
snowflakes fall silent
parents run ragged in hush
children sleep on edge
bells chime come stroke of midnight
three hours past ~ presents wake up
# Happy Christmas to all #
By
David kavanagh
Happy heathy life is wished for you this year
Helping hearts to wipe every tear
Happenstance happenings that herald cheer
Heart warming hopeful events to make covid disappear
High-spirited hilarious friends always near
Hale and hearty body, end of all despair
Harmonious relationships heralding heaps of love so dear
Healing, humane people, holidays hugs and everything that makes miseries blear
Heart felt Merry Christmas and Happy New year to all my friends here.
Date: 12/21/2020
pope-ONE DAY AT A TIME
Sad is the heart so full of care
Of tomorrow's what will,will be,
Upon his sleeve,all life does wear,
For all to see
Cast down,choking with eyes that blear
No words can comfort or make free,
Thought frozen in yesterday's fear,
That none can see.
inspired by Mt 6:25-34
A 'pope' is a quatrain form of 3 lines of 8 syllables and 1 line of 4 (offset)with a rhyming scheme of a,b,a.b and is labelled such after the English poet,Alexander Pope(1688-1744)
His poem Solitude in which he imitates Abraham Crawley and for which he was indebted to Horace is the inspiration for this form.
My version can be a single quatrain or double or a sequence of stanzas as in Pope's example.
Beer Head
Can't drive my brain into gear
my thinking right now is not truly clear,
a headache may come is what I do fear
I should not of drank all that beer.
My body and eyes all a blear
to many I drank to toast a cheer,
clinking my booze to whoever was near
to each and everyone - an equal peer.
Dance moves controlled by my beer puppeteer,
my feet stomps the floor like a ready charged deer,
shout singing the songs - not a cool look they sneer,
wrong words song sung sang, heard in the jeer.
My voice is hoarse an a ringing left ear
only to realise in my right I cannot hear,
panic sets in falling awkwardly on my rear
only to flatten my new expensive headgear.
Broken remains took me to save for a year,
self-pity pours in - I even shed a tear,
sober I stay and will do adhere
if not, beer just may ruin my career.
31.08.20
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