Greying Poems

A Silent Rune

Life’s canyon narrows
Its walls grow steep
Age walks slowly
A date to keep

Old shadows waver
On ancient winds
O’er paths that neither
Begin nor end

For here is here
And now is won
A future calls
A past is done

A greying moon’s
Soft light dims dreams
A sigh is heard
‘mid unseen streams

A twisting breeze
Hums an eerie tune
For time is not
A silent rune

Vista

Buoyed up by the syntheses of the past,
idyllic murals of green hills open paths
to a healing truth.

What say the brown camels of Casablanca
to assassins nursing festered wounds of
new Karma?

Yesteryears recline on the shoulders of
a greying age, chanting songs to a
departing future — quicker on the heels of potentates.

Drums fade atop lonesome, hollow-crested
landscapes, accompanied by the invoked,
naked past.

Wild Garden

   Feeder cloistered in ferns
   Wrapped with new green tendrils
   Caressed in mellow winds
   Bring the birds to snuggle in
   Wildflowers bowing in grace
   Some tilted to the sun
   Some are brand new
   Greying grass
   Drying from the top
   Waiting for a wisp of wind
   So they can drop
   A pine tree or two
   Thrusting up
   To get a view

sapphire storms hiku

skies of sapphire  s
                         t o
                     r   m   s 
s u s 
    p 
   e n 
        d 
       e  d in bruised glass blues ~ 
the greying grief    g l 
                           i     n 
                               t
                               s

A Wilderness of Mirrors

The sun homes scars and flames of dusk, 
           drizzling a rain of illusion, 
and you, the muse of angst~ 
tracing the cold rush of desires,
            to sear my tongue,
            to undress the silk of life,
spilling sweet poison upon the lens of lies,
in the afterglow of faded flora~
I taste copper and ashes
of a wistful love, blurred with tears,
amidst this heart, a wilderness of mirrors,
mimicking skies, restless and clouded~ 
with pale promises and silent sighs, 
illustrating ghosts of reveries, 
as fingers of the moon, greying yet tender,
like dying winds carrying crisp memories,
          press on the keys of a hazy harmony.

But will a broken soul wade through glass-soiled sands?
I feel nothing but the wilt of wild roses,
   the flow of rhymes, aching within my ink...

talked to a star one night

Talked to a star one night
It whispered
From behind a greying cloud
“I’m lonely”
It seems stars are so busy shining
They have little time to chat
They find it ironic that we humans
Write so much about them
Attribute to them strange powers
Of auric ascendancy.

I whispered back
Lest I be thought mad
By other star gazers
“I am lonely also”
It seems that we humans are so busy
Gazing at the stars
We lose track of one another
Stand alone wondering
Why the moonlight is so cold
And the stars seem so sad.

We decided to shine together
And whisper
                    “Come join us any starry night”

Power Station

To all of my loves, 
I'm nothing but a greying power station.
They're not interested in me
or my well being
I'm not sure if they ever were.
They come at me with endless barbed babble
have little need for dialogue or advice
I'm just a chew toy for their mental mice...
when their confusion evolves into a vice
They have their smart phones
and other instruments of distraction 
they already know everything.

My loves are leaving now -only half charged up
They're onto their next power station
to get topped off.
I'm completely drained 
but completely happy that they're gone.

Life Raft in Amber

When brother was fading away
black chimes signaled for the demons to play
They attacked all sides of the hobbled mind
Treating the heart like an orphaned marble
They were rabid and had brackish intention
hope chipped away like crowbar on cement.

In a dream one of them took me into its sky
I clung tight to its undercarriage
begging for it to release me
It promised that it would if I said
that I loved it...I relented
It didn't keep its promise as expected.

I coddled a little amber cross.... 
(a field mouse in an owl's greying claw).
I was dismissed into a pillow of tranquility
The demons slowly drifting away...
as did my brother the very next day.

How in touch with Nature can I be

Sun setting can I see nor a moonrise, 
Tall towers nor let me see smiling stars, 
Nor with sunrise, how moon melts from my eyes, 
The dazzling light my eyesight always mars. 
Smoke and dust make things much dimmer than are, 
Greens greying are, flowers so rare to see,  
Birds save pigeons from towns are driven far, 
How in commune with Nature can I be?  
I’ve to trace steps and watch wither I walk,  
No more can I marvel heavenly art, 
For, stare and stalk the unpaved stones that flock 
Whilst potholes pry and raise beats of my heart. 
   How can I in touch with Nature e’er be,
   Oh, when my mind must always be in me. 
____________________________ 
Sonnet |10.03.2017, revised October 2024| nature

Poet’s note: A man in touch with nature remains in touch with his inherent goodness. But what if city dwelling deprives him of Nature?

Haunted Cemetery

The trails of fog like cold entrails
that wind and slither through the copse
which shiver at the touch and sops.
A chance at vision clearly fails.

Each jutting rock: a sentinel.
A greying headstone stands alone
against the tones of verdant cone.
My heartbeat sounds like a death knell.

A silver coffin bell from ditch.
As I am trying t’ place the hums;
direction clear from whence it comes
in variant beseeching pitch.

A hand that reaches up from grave
implores me for small change to buy
a warming nip of hooch as I
surrender will at being brave.

Lamplight

A crowded street has many ways
Some go to a dark dark place
You see it's greying eye of gravel
Other paths necessitate a shovel

Then theres your own 
The sum of stones you've thrown
It's the million dollar street
Marbled in a golden sheet

Birthright of gold I did expect
Only my own to be correct
Thought it was a choice to select
A worse road simple neglect

What is your worth, magnum opus
Magnificent gold is my only focus
Did the road I paved deceive
Though by my own hands achieved

It is company that I grieve
Blinding light is my reprieve
Company enough for each sleeve
To hold tight and perceive

The bustling people 
on the yellowed streets
Of life

September Rain

“Some stars are frozen within the shades of shifting seasons, yet the grief of love, etched in acrylic gold, whirls through the sunlight, dressed in grim mists,  echoing endless memories of a timeless romance” Quote By Poet 

I feel the frozen sigh of an aching sunset,  
as the warm mustard dews of moving mists~
 softly stroke the sapphire fringes of  
    silent seas, singing somber songs  
into the rain-kissed skyline,  
        heavy with onyx tears of angst,  
like a withering black rose,
   mourning within a mahogany casket,  
  locked away with sorrowful memories,  
  embalmed in hues of hurling hailstorms. 

Perhaps somewhere between splitting gusts  
and gales of grief, sullen sunflowers remain trapped,  
as souvenirs dusted with greying greens of a broken September.
   For every autumn  holds a narrative,  
   lost between the dusky views of drizzling leaves,  
and I will forever bloom from an opaque mirage,  
   listening to the fading forests~
whisper woeful odes to the wistful wind.

THE PICTURE ON THE WALL

THE PICTURE ON THE WALL

At first I didn’t notice it hanging there
Just at the edge of my vision, I declare
Then the significance dawned, I swear
It was so clearly a future portrait of me
An image of how I would prove to be
Of course, the years had taken their toll

The pale wrinkled skin and greying hair
Made it all the more real, as I’m aware
But its odd look is more than I can bear
It almost reflects some alternate identity
With a strange expression for all to see
My eyes staring back deep into my soul

Young and old images, a contrasted pair
The one on the wall was holding its stare
As if it had some crucial insight to share
Yet cold and lacking any hint of intimacy
Was this a real connection or just fantasy
I turned as I saw those eyes begin to roll

Life of a teacher

Waking up before the sun kisses
Chirping of birds becomes brushed aside
Putting glasses to see better
With unpolished shoes I ride over
With an old beg of mine
Keeping some old books inside
The rusted passage let me in
I walk through a road edged with topiary
as if golden hedges welcome me
The old corridor embraces my stomping footsteps
Holding a chalk to create and defend
I march into battle ground cum temple of knowledge
Keeping all agonies behind the doorway
A warrior devotes to serve the future
An oath to fire up extinguishing lamps
And to nourish the saplings till they grow
Time rushes with greying hairs and vivid memories
But the grown up trees reminds me to keep going

A Simple Village Prayer

Dear God -

walk with us
slowly, slowly
through greying lanes
on quiet heels
in white-washed Spring - 
and hear us sing - 
Saint Sampson’s 
loving lines …  

please paint
the verge-side lilies 
bright! - on lovers please
shine starlight bright! -
and hem our beckoning
golden shores
with billowing flags - 
and tri-colors!

please set within
our fishing nets
our suppers’ fishes -
fat and wet!
(for country folk eat hearty!) 
and share with all
our village pride
our welcoming embrace

make new-found friendships
banish fear, as we prepare
our pretty Summer Fete
this year - this - year
make red post-boxes 
BURST with only ever-joyous news!
please swell our gardens’ harvests 
(and our Honesty Boxes, too …)

and may this place 
be Heaven-blessed. 
‘God Bless’ - ‘God Bless’
To EVERYONE
To ALL who come
To ALL who rest
‘God Bless'
'GOD BLESS’

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