THE COLD EMBRACE OF DEATH
For some, an imminent death is quite OK
Especially if by then, they’ve had their day
It’s that or continued chronic pain, anyway
But the decision should only ever be theirs
Not even by someone close who still cares
No arbitrary ruling like in Science Fiction
Yet it should be painless, at a time to suit
No waving back the tide like King Canute
Just hope that the nurse in charge is cute
There are those who in principle, object
But a final choice as one’s own is correct
Laid out clearly and never a contradiction
It may be sad, but suffering will be worse
The funeral plan may not require a hearse
But anothers’ dalliance can be like a curse
Some believe a better time awaits beyond
Meeting old loves of whom they are fond
It is best, if the future matches prediction
King Canute would play his flute,
And dance upon his nose;
And all the while a symphony
He’d languidly compose.
Summer decay is all around
Autumn with stealth creeps slowly in
Robin is happy making trilling sound
Mother Nature busy she will always win.
Like Canute, we cannot halt the tide
Seasons ebb and flow with no respite
Natural rotation will be applied
Seasonal change will always delight.
Spring uplifts in perfect way
Light filters through forest trees
Small creatures happy as they play
Our world is perfection I do believe.
King Canute
barking at the waves
watchdog
The stupidity of man
The leaders of Europe are gripped by a collective madness
Like swimmers in a river feeling the pull of the current, think
There is time to swim ashore where banks are not so tall.
The river gets wider, the current stronger, the ocean nearer
Where the maelstrom awaits churning life into fragments.
The leaders of Europe thought they could alter the current
Vainglorious as king Canute trying to stop the incoming tide.
There are those the enemy of humanity who thinks a nuclear
War is not so bad, millions are killed but not for those who hide
In a secret valley in Wales, so dumb they are dying in a cave.
We, the people are blind to spending time arguing about
The non-binary sexual politics drowning in utmost banality.
languid doldrums, swaying lanyard, sails hanging loose
dreary small drums reverberate, neurons dumbing down
nerve ends fuse, sunlit shadows depict my numbing frown
feelings grind dull, thoughts stranded in the dangling sluice
sudden intermittent draught, strengthening breeze
mind and body free-falling, spontaneous pressure
sinews stretch, skin on skin, pulsating probing pleasure
senses tingle, tickling laugh, lengthening squeeze
breathe in deep, sniff olfactory aroma drift
gustatory tasting plates licked and tongued
erotic amalgam squished and belly-bunged
nostrils flare, exotic pungent odour whiffed
cavort, canoodle, drooling lips, flavours of the beast
rhythms rise where delirious frenzy can often be
harmonic screaming near the edge of cacophony
weave distorted images, dream-dancing above the feast
fleers, seekers, washed-up innocent sinning on the beach
subdividers and King Canute howling at the wind
viral loads onboard, invisible invaders grinned
collective cowardice casts the truth spinning out of reach
My poems are growing longer
When reciting I run out of puff
My lungs, once much stronger
Struggle with long-winded stuff
So, I'm writing this short refrain
To curb my penchant to ramble
I'm trying my best to abstain
From including excess preamble
I'd like to say it's a breeze
But the truth is, it isn't at all
Some writers do it with ease
I go large rather than small
So in future when penning a verse
And my lines seem a little snappy
Or appear to be overly terse . . .
Let me throw in a line overblown . . . that's no longer pared down to the bone . . . that takes on a life of its own . . . that may make you chuckle or groan . . . of a gargoyle that's carved out of stone . . . parachutes above the drop zone . . . the baddest badass since Capone . . . the last of the species alone . . . the smell of grass freshly mown . . . the melt-in-the-sun ice cream cone . . . smooth jazz from a cool saxophone . . . the wrong that you cannot condone . . . to say scon or should it be scone . . . can Canute turn the tide from his throne . . . a neverending line in a poem . . . that's more than a little slaphappy
Roman conquest introduced new religion
law and customs.
Christianization was also influenced by Celtic Christianity
and it was sanctioned through the ages.
Many of our priests went straight to God
as stones thrown on entrenchments,
persecuted, tortured, martyred,
only because of their faith.
They were servants of true God.
Were is exoneration of noble and just?
Our catholic king, Canute said,
”There is no king but Jesus”.
Can you be at peace,
denying it to others?
Can you proclaim the freedom,
if you oppress the people?
We live on the idyllic Island of Cyprus.
In 2008 this place became home for us.
Surrounded by The Mediterranean Sea,
It is that very sea than unnerved me.
I have spent many hours down at the beach,
Always making sure I am well out of reach.
Of that surging sea, waves rolling in at me,
Relentless waves that crash and die,scarily.
The vastness of the mighty sea doth roar,
Only to end it's life as a whimper on the shore.
It's not the power of the sea that unnerved me,
Or it's consistent waves of unstoppability.
I can understand why King Canute got upset,
For all his commanding, his feet still got wet.
I remember thinking when I was at a low,
That sea is telling me the way I should go.
Keep on rolling at my personal shores
Keep on knocking on all those closed doors.
Never be stopped by those stumbling reefs,
Battle on regardless, fulfill your beliefs.
Waves never stop, 'til they reach the shore,
For behind them are coming many more.
Telling us to follow the dreams we have planned,
Don't just let them roll in, only to die in the sand.
© Dave Timperley 01 September 2016
Sharp, the chill sends messages bleeding
Icicles along the contours of my very spine,
Lashing out in my brain,
Truth targeting each cell it can locate or define.
I am King Canute sat on the sand,
Extended arms to hold back the sweeping tide,
I gulp the cyanide tears,
Bite down on cold enamel to subdue the grief inside.
So senseless, so beyond comprehension,
Less pattern or reason I could never know;
I soul-search my mind and heart,
Yet always come up empty, with nothing to show.
All I really understand is that I
Loved you and will love you still
And the culprit beast of tragedy
Has force fed me the bitterest pill.
When you were stolen away, I fear
The fire in me turned cold as midnight frost;
Are the sweetest smiles you sculpted on my face
Now decreed a memory...
...Forsaken...?
...Forever lost...?