Long Hearth Poems
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I forgot
Far away from the sun's prying rays
Shadowed reflection.
Weave a starlight web.
It shines at the atomic level.
With an apocalyptic unit.
Label, explore eternal fate.
Scattered electrons and protons.
Connected with the fairy fire spirit.
Our true humanistic art.
Have the same flow.
Cosmological poetry from infinity
It's frustrating.
Not all are sitting.
Near the hearth.
Mumbles and gestures.
Observing the light trail
Well then.
Some are decreasing.
Deep thought of syntax!
It happened suddenly.
You know they are stars
Obsolete.
Written: June 27, 2022
It was cold in his shack and rain squeezed through gaps in the walls
Built as a summer retreat near the beach during prosperous times
A single door creaked under an onslaught of memories and drizzle
Oh well Dylan Thomas wrote in his Boat House
Waves reaches foundations erected on shifting sands and firm beliefs
Thunder resembled turmoil and salt of the earth in search of a home
A sea weed mattress moulded his mind into drift wood of dilapidation
The Old Man by the Sea and no fish in sight
He was freezing his hands stiff and stringent merely holding the pen
Once more he cursed arthritis and age and icy ink in mere circulation
His gaze fell upon a ceiling which suspended possessions and dreams
Carl Spitzweg The Poor Poet umbrella in hand
When the tide reached his shaky resilience and vanishing aspirations
He succumbed to the dire question of how to use the last bit of paper
Buried nearby the iron cast stove which was an alcove to his lost hearth
Dorothy Parker You may as well Live
As frost set in and he hesitantly resolved to kindle a dim meagre fire
Piled bits of a sodden wooden crate onto an opening for new beginnings
He rubbed his fingers and rejoined the quill adorning his crooked grip
No one can make this decision but me
When flames of near forgotten passion flickered a few shadows of hope
He required no pages to write to his lover in the realm of infinite script
The sepia photograph was faded but the picture held court in his heart
He draped an octopus around star fish and dolphins
23rd January 2020
One more I love you
Is that too much to ask?
Time passes, and we get so busy
work and career, home and hearth
life and death, children and birth,
sudddenly, it all slips away
leaving these last few moments left to pray;
Pray for the future, be grateful of the past
satisfied our love has last.
Too soon pass the days
suddenly they're years,
blessed and cursed
with unexpected sadness and all its tears
plagued by the threats of our greatest fears;
we said we'd grow old together
moments for just you and me;
Time out raced us
rushing you to the end
how could that have happened
in the perplexties of life's bends
and now all I ask for
is one more I love you.
Through Garreg-Wen’s nomadic hearth, we grew
and waned like lichen’s stole on Moel-y-Gest.
Her lustrous tablet’s cleaved expanse possessed
our sacred streams. Where plasma sands, in lieu
of blood’s endured aspects – our angled view –
was figured, flawless: all we knew. North-West
Nirvana’s alien tongues recite the pest
of castle’s: tourist’s transient blight; so too,
ewe’s balk like doubtful dunes. Idyllic slants
in callow youth, discern, so seldom, tints
beyond the rosy realm of spectrum’s scant
surmise: stars, not blinkered by levant,
lost streetlights. Night’s insight may not imprint
the shape of time that teary-eyed stars grant.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YzBWSHIyaUs
Sing it loud and clear
and make it the laude voice I hear
bring me home to the hearth of my youth
where mom and dad always told the truth
sing me in behind a curtain of pure fantasy
song me through the chorus of a shasta daisy
air me out to the beat of your sweet drum
sing it out loud and sing it clear...
Sing it in your native tongue
help me climb Soprano, wrung by wrung
bring it in and hold me in, sweet cantor of old
nothing in our world of music is ever undersold
song me ahead mistake me not for dead
in this land of honey and gold , I got heart
or so I'm told...
The old ruin sat near the brow of the hill
it had been there for centuries forgotten
none now knew for what purpose it had been used
not even the elders who had many suggestions
A not unattractive looking building of stone
and that in it's self only added to the mystery
for these stones were not locally quarried
the nearest place being over 170 miles away
Yet here they had been dragged, then hewed
wrestling them into place quite some task
an imposing building nestled in the hillside
and the views surrounding it post card perfect
Inside was airy and light with most of the roof gone
a strange hearth in the corner of the main hall
large enough for a man to walk into upright
Bread ovens built into the walls and a sitting niche
This was all that was left apart from one roofed room
in here it was dry and warm even a single trundle bed
admittedly very rockety but still it was usable
I decided to camp out the following night, it would be fun
The following evening I climbed the hill as the sun set
tonight it would be a full moon, already the air chilling
I settled in with my few belongings and lit the fire
soon it was roaring, with crackles, hissing and spitting
It was a fine clear night and the heat wonderful
so I made up a bracken bed in front of the fire
I laid back enjoying the stars and a comet shooting past
lazily I slipped not realising into a strange sleep
I found the building restored though it's use still not clear
only a long table and chairs in here, beds in the rooms leading off
then a man came into view, he did not seem to notice me as he passed
he stirred the pot cooking on the fire and set the table
Soon more men came in and sat down to enjoy a hearty meal
I realised from their armour that these were soldiers
so the ram-shackled ruin had once been a lookout post
I woke in the morning well rested remembering my dream
As I walked back down the hill I looked back at it
drenched in sunshine it seemed to gleam a wisp of smoke
curling up from the chimney it looked as if once more alive
not an old forgotten ruin moulding slowly into the landscape
I used the word ram-shackled recently and it struck me as a good theme
for a poem so I wrote this.
As they were sitting in their house he looked around and scratched his head.
Then, after looking around some more, turned to his wife and said:
“It’s old, it’s small, we only have one bathroom, we don’t have a lot of storage space.
Some of the windows won’t open and the whole hearth needs to be replaced.”
Its floor leans a little to the east, it has it’s share of cracks
It has so many imperfections that all the newer houses lack.
“So what is it about this house,” He asked, “that we bought all those years ago?”
“What is it about this house that makes you love it so?”
"When we walked into this house that first day,” she said as she wiped away a tear,
“I immediately began to see all the things we would be doing here.”
“This house made me feel happy…and the moment we walked in her front door
I could hear our laughter echoing off these walls…and see our babies crawling on these floors.”
“I saw us eating meals around this table…first just me and you
then adding more chairs and food as our family grew and grew.”
“I saw holidays celebrated in this room…all the birthday cakes and candles I could see
I saw us opening presents…and in that corner…I saw our Christmas tree.”
“That’s why I love this house…with all its flaws and glitches and cracks….
because this is where or life unfolded…and this is where I love looking back…”
“and thinking how when we stepped through that door…in that one instant I knew
this would be the house where our dreams would all come true.”
Variations on a Theme of Red
Color of bold that daubs the sunset bright
Old fair weather friend of shepherd’s delight
That taints the emblazoned rays of gold
Displayed a glorious red for all to behold
Rare crimson moon adorns a shady backdrop
A Raleigh scattering miracle of red that’s set to shock
Its sign of fate that casts a gloom upon the earth
For some at least who warn of pending doom and death
Blood red that gives the erythrocyte its hue
When paired with oxygen a healthy glow anew
When starved of red, blood slowly turns to blue
A drop in oxygen levels is certain to ensue
Poppy red defines this flower in silent meadow strewn
Whose fragile petals reflect frail life that’s prematurely hewn
These sanguine emblems stand firm upon the plaintive ground
Lest we forget the bravery of which we are so proud
Bright red fans the fiery flames that make a grateful warmth
And cheers and lights a chilly night seated round the hearth
But when misused, this type of red becomes a thing of danger
As out of control this wildfire, is certain to endanger
Rusty red boasts taints of brown with coppery appeal
Less blatant, an iron oxide, for stage lighting it’s ideal
But cardinal red stands lofty as a churchman’s stately dress
This red adorned at conclave is destined to impress
And like the rose my love appears, a summer beauty born
But when the red petals disband, reveals the hardy thorn
Blush red will grant the skin, its rueful splash of cringe
As well as blotchy red after a night out on the binge
So red is the color of differing shades and styles and taints
Its variations abound amongst a multitude of paints
Seeing red at life will give you great feelings of anger
But when upon a canvas, will make it look much grander
Germ of essence.
Human blob.
Shattered eggshell to the chicklet hatched.
Interlocking family of a kingdom.
Beget or begone? Antigone!
Pouch bearing mammal with no issue for her milk a plenty.
Enlightened species on
a zodiac sign.
Propagating genus wild and free yet stillborn.
Wet nurse in a pregnant phase but still a child at hearth or so it seems.
Meadow grazing Macropod fazes antipodean observer all the while.
New arrival signage whose laboured footprint chills on every impact.
Courier from catacombs, fateful torch aloft, flambeau at a glance where toddlers cheer, sonnet form heraldry ablaze with kindling verse.
Human destination thread that spins a hopeful tale.
Cave of legends halting site persevered by household zeal.
Stalagmite, stalactite, granite grey day gulag’s natal spasm.
Troglodyte who once did tramp upon a uterine tunnel trading in survival for relief.
Embryonic creeper stuck on dry wall canvas.
Border crossing cradle cordons off a check point, never mind the cost or inconvenience.
Acorn random toss, mighty oak seed trap between a leaf and fallen log.
Flower pollen stigma,
never seen as shameful to the fertile mind.
Tree of life penumbra casts a limelight shade.
Concepts pulse the mind like nascent parabolic kites that stymie outcome.
Genesis of brainwave.....
nurtured by insightful minds and marble carver tomes.
Olympic status offspring, budding Einstein player on the ball.
Thought, the inner urchin magnet probing deep inside magenta labyrinths.
Wheel of fortune‘s mumsy shadow
ova.
Masterful philosophy storing foetal logic on some growth cell’s wellspring fountain.
Infant augur embers fan their winter flame regardless.
Birthright , birthstone,
birth pang, the reproductive organs of infinity whose algebraic series has no final chapter scheduled.
Leaving their land of birth
Lions, sages, tuskers go far,
There and there die in home and hearth--
Crows, cowards, herbivores as are.
____________________________
Sanskrit Translation | 18.01.2026 | birth, brave, far, home/hearth, quatrain
Note: Some quatrains called shlokas in Sanskrit are known as Subhaashhitams, words well-said. The brave and brave-hearts venture far from their place of birth and prosper. Those fearful that not, die there and there. The beasts of hunting so brave command lager territories. Those eager to learn go far and get more knowledge and wisdom (sat-purushhaah). Travel was the way in olden days.
Deshan utsrjya gacchanti
sinhaah sat-purushaah gajaah |
Tatra eva nidhanam yaanti
kaakaah kaa-purushaah mrgaah || Subhaashhitam ||