Long Stiles Poems
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RITES OF PASSAGE
Each Christmas we all gathered there,
‘Aunt Clare, has more room ,after all’ with
her trestled tables and chair.
Grown-ups swigging their brown bottled ale,
young-uns, lemonade with paper straw,
VE style parties, once more.
Lunch over, the voice decibels rose,
raucus laughter oiled by the beer
brought forth more plates of festive cheer.
Cards slid noiselessly over the American
cloth, copper coins switching from pot to pot,
enthralled children watching on, ‘til
banished with a special treat, to the cold
stairs, or now bare front room, or to play
out in the deserted twilight street.
Every year the ritual was much the same,
a family ‘bring and share’ , long before
such gatherings were given this name.
FACES&PLACES
Alongside a Chiltern chalkstream
I lay me down to dream,
of country paths,stiles and steep slopes,
those days,long ago,filled with hope;
I dreamed of days of summer sun
when my life had just begun,
climbing trees,cricket on the green,
the first time I made the school team;
Football with coats and tennis ball,
bonfire night fireworks in the Fall,
carol singing through silent streets,
paper chains and Christmas treats.
Crystal clear,vision's backward gaze
brought forth from nostalgia's haze.
THE HACK
Out of the yard,my daughter and me,on a hot
summer day of Eighty-three.Hastoe to Cadsden,
there and back,eight hours in the saddle,for our
first all-day hack.Onto the canter path,down to
Paines End,through Fox Lane the route did wend.
Into a copse ,keeping the pace to an even flow.
Up to Dunsmore,past the Black Horse, we followed
the course.Chequers, Pondswood,down hill to the pub.
Horses tethered for a rest,we ate our ploughmans with
a pint of the landlord's best.Back in the into the saddle,
at the canter to retrace our steps and in Hastoe as the
clock struck four,to stack the tack on the stable door.
Listen to me read these poems on youtube under name ichthyschiro
You were twenty and about to graduate college when you made a fatal mistake! Two days ago i lost you and was reminded of what i should appreciate. The memories that we share hold the most value in my possession! This insight i describe came from the lord i shared in my poem on poetry soup. It was called expression! My dad shared you called at age ten and gave your heart to the lord! You were taken to soon but now you have no pain and gain with christ your reward. You will never be forgot because you were in my past and present in my soul. I love you my dear cousin see you when my days grow to be old. We will meet again and share my first time in heaven as we did at disney universal. Sorry if this poem is abrupt. I wasn't planning a rehearsal. He was my cousin and died at age twenty two. RIP Tyler Stiles and my love always and my prayers too anyone who has lost someone. If your reading this i mean you!
‘far from the madding crowds’ and cars
this ‘green and pleasant’ land of ours
conceals behind its dry stone walls
secrets, streams and waterfalls
where stepping stones that gather moss
‘shine forth’ and tempt us both across
to distant fields of eighties’ skies
now clouded through autumnal eyes
where sheep still bleat as we both pass
along old paths of weathered grass
rekindling thoughts as each track weaves
of first love, hope and burning leaves
that once infused a simpler air
but linger still inside somewhere
to guide us on those wistful miles
through woods, past farms and over stiles
in search of where we sat and spent
time dreaming dreams of dreams we dreamt
over the hills and far away
inside a world called yesterday
and where we’d stay ‘til light turned late
in fields beyond the kissing gate
where now through gentle smiles and tears
reflecting on those forty years
it feels like time has flown so fast
since young love asked if love could last.
Oh baneful yellow Moon in fullest rounded sphere,
Bright as Summers Buttercups in abundant yield,
Coldly riveted upon Winters beaten, thin silvered panels;
Thereof: By ye mighty hammer doth great thoth wield!
For what fearful trowel gouged out thine far flung valleys
Whilst piling high upon yon monstrous heights?
Wherest, scattering the bare pebbles, a ghostly sower
Coursing across vast cratered plains under Selenian moonlights.
Here once didst thou swelling tides ever invade long vanished shores
Dragged upon by some dwindling, exploded, far distant star;
An atmosphere girdling, warming and nurturing -
Torn from this barren rock and cast way out afar!
Eternally ostracized and deviled, adorned in black swirling robes;
Drifting angular grains heaped - raked by hot solar winds;
Your desolate kingdoms lit in all seasons under heavenly lanterns;
Worshiped and foully cursed upon: for any amount - and all manner of sins.
And ere did erstwhile lovers that ever come forth on bended knee,
To traverse the pale beams that twist about the crooked stiles,
Pledge well intended oaths beneath high, impossible windows:
Their grandly draped balconies and balustrades bathed in luminosities wiles.
When across the recorded centuries of histories misted-veiled years,
from the quill of the old sage, from the high lilt of the bard,
Your pensive countenance disaffected and of a cheerless tilt -
Hanging upon sharply crested vestiges of reckless disregard!
A BACKWARD GLANCE
Alongside a Chiltern chalkstream
I lay me down to dream,
of country paths,stiles and steep slopes,
those days,long ago,filled with hope;
I dreamed of days of summer sun
when my life had just begun,
climbing trees,cricket on the green,
the first time I made the school team;
Football with coats and tennis ball,
bonfire night fireworks in the Fall,
carol singing through silent streets,
paper chains and Christmas treats.
Crystal clear,vision's backward gaze
brought forth from nostalgia's haze.
Many instant delights can never last
All future certainty lies in the past,
Often distant memories linger so
Nostalgia's balance sways to and fro;
Fleeting and ephmeral is the dream
Yesterday's hero,a today's has-been,
Rose-tinted glasses with short-sighted views
Can distort all perspective,out of true;
Twenty,twenty embellishes hind-sight
But cannot guarantee,a future bright,
Experience forgotten wastes away
As superficiality has its day.
The wheel of life endlessly turns again
Grinding mistakes with perpetual pain.
The imaginary musings of my mind,
experience past & present lingers long,
dusted off,re-opened,viewed from time to time,
retrospective perspective changes all;
Maturity's long-sightedness squints aghast,
then savours the mellowness of memory;
A tear,a smile washes nostalgia's face;
Today will be yesterday,gathering dust,
then filed,microfiched,all too soon forgotten
'til an event unlocks the museum again.
Dull
colours,
long buried-
this sepia
day
Our
childhood
memories-
a forest of
dreams
see
snows of
yesteryear
drifting in my mind.
score
and ten-
looking back,
one day at a time.
TANKA
Spring is cricket on the green
Summer is picnics in the park
Autumn is conkers from the crescent
And in Winter slides on ice
across the schoolyard
Crystalline 57 Nostalgia
The stream where pooh sticks once were raced
now flows into memory's embrace
THE WAKE
Slowly,
nostalgia
trickles into
torrents,to flood memory's
canyon.
Hot winds sweep over desert floor
on a dry lake, at Death Valley’s door
I walk the salty, white washed sand
feeling small in this searing land.
Herein lies Bad Water, hot and disheveled
a barren wilderness below sea level
near Furnace Creek, home of the devil.
Pioneers mined silver in this place
every breath, survival; after death, erased.
Dystopian shapes ripple and rise
skewing reality, hallucinatory surprise
caught within desert’s blistering heat
blurring the mountains in retreat.
I feel a crackling in my bones
I can hear past cries and moans
stark air penetrates my very being
my skin bakes in sun scorched steam.
Horizon spirit reigns from on high
breathing life into vast blue skies
cumulus clouds stand dominant and varied
now they turn stormy, dark and wary.
Layers of sand dunes rise like stiles
tall pyramids expand for miles
moving and drifting in waves and spires
lizards retreat from heat and exhale fire.
I leave my footprints on the dunes
passing sagebrush at high noon
shrinking shrubs will soon dry out
tumbleweeds will fly about
then blow away, just like me
into oblivion and feeling free.
IMAGINE THIS
When I was young,in summer sun
the excitement of life,just begun,
hours seemed like days, and days
by brooklets,still,we lazed;
When I was young,in poverty
simple pleasures were had ,for free
improvisation was our key,
for sport,fishing or climbing tree;
books and radio were for me,
putting a face to voice and place
the birth of creativity.
Frugal times,spent so close to home
sans shopping malls and telephone
IN FELLOWSHIP
Come take my hand & walk with me
an English country scene we'll see,
down green lanes and over stiles,
we'll walk, and walk, for miles;
Come take my side and stroll awhile,
in Spring meadows with clover lush,
primrose,buttercup and cowslip,
then through blubell woodlands,trip;
Take my arm,and with me ramble
over hill and downland we'll wander
the bridleway ,hedged with bramble,
to an inn for lunch.we'll amble.
Homely victuals,sure to please
conversing long,we'll take our ease.
LOVE’S SWEET DREAM
Memories on the wall and in the hall,
yesterday's dreams faded recollections
what I was and we were now are
no more,reside in photographs
and lie in drawers with country walks
for miles and children's smiles;
Landscapes of broken hearts are
now still life,of everyday joys, when
girl met boy,what-might-have-been ;
or a if only,we had yet no other way
or could have been We had no
manual with love's sweet dream.
Listen to me read these poems on youtube under name of ichthyschiro
Claire won 5 medals at the Barcelona Paras,
In 1992, where she took the 50m freestyle gold,
To set a World Record, and in the 100m pass,
Still freestyle, she secured a warm silver fold,
A silver for the 100m backstroke and 4x100 relay,
Which made her extremely proud, chuffed no end,
So she only took up para-triathlon 2008, recently,
And in 2008, the Worlds, she won the gold blend.
In 2013 at the ETU Para-triathlon Europeans,
In Antalya in Turkey, Claire won the solid silver,
And in 2014, the ITU Worlds with London johns,
Claire came home 3rd, a bronze to weather.
2015 and the ITU Worlds again, in Edmonton,
Canada, and Clare truly proved again to be,
Successful at the triathlon with consolidation,
Of another bronze medal, podium victory to see.
That same year in Buffalo City at the Worlds,
She won the title, and at the GBR Nationals,
She came 2nd, also at the ITU London Worlds,
Then 3rd at the ETU Geneva European stiles.
1st in Detroit at the ITU Worlds, and then 2nd,
In Penrith in 2016 at more ITU Worlds again;
She finished 4th in Lisbon, Portugal - her bend,
Towards swimming, biking and running did pen.
She was born without a left forearm, prosthetic,
And was a Chartered Accountant. She reads,
Watches box sets, loving West Wing frenetic,
And hates mice. She has English Lit MA seeds.
Quaint Island home
I adore my quaint Island home
Where the blue sea stretches for miles
On verdant hills I often roam
Strolling through lush meadows and stiles
City life does not attract me
I adore my quaint Island home
It’s a place I’d love you to see
On golden sands I can beach comb
Paddling in the waves and white foam
On a glorious summer’s day
I adore my quaint Island home
It is here I will always stay
I should write a poetry book,
perhaps I could write a thick tome
of poems about where I live -
I adore my quaint Island home!
Q Contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings
My first attempt at this form
06-04-17
Come take my hand & walk with me
an English country scene we'll see,
down green lanes and over stiles,
we'll walk, and walk, for miles;
Come take my side and stroll awhile,
in Spring meadows with clover lush,
primrose,buttercup and cowslip,
then through blubell woodlands,trip;
Take my arm,and with me ramble
over hill and downland we'll wander
the bridleway ,hedged with bramble,
to an inn for lunch.we'll amble.
Homely victuals,sure to please
conversing long,we'll take our ease.
Note.I organise a monthly walk along these lines for older folk from our church,this was the
inspration for my sonnet.