The spires watch nightmares planned below, for citizenry
Who should have no foe.' From within its boundry's
They're to be fools on show, the first of April, auspisces
Known.' The donkeys are leading all reason has flown.'
Six the number..' of zones in plan? to destroy cohesion
Do we give a damn.? In academia many need real learning'
We experience much deluge, and yet there's lots of chat; that
The planet; is burning.?
The quiet rustle of the leaves
I am at peace over the seas
The welcoming and gentle breeze
I’m soaking up the way it feels
My grandma’s garden and her tea
The apple tree, the little bee
The timid buzz, come on! Come see!
I’m five years old, I’m fun, I’m free
The sun is blazing, it’s july
The big blue sky, oh let me fly!
Being there could be my high
It was a home, was kind, was mine
But coming back to there
There was no care, it left me bare
So much was broken, no repair
It stunk of sorrow, of despair
Outside was mild, it was cold
And my poor grandma’s getting old
I want to cradle, want to hold
But nothing comes, a dead-end road
I am fifteen, I’m angry, sad
And nobody can understand
The way I feel, my back was stabbed
That drained all of the love i had
My home is ruined, broken down
It’s just as blue as this old town
Where is my place I once had found?
It’s gone, it’s buried underground
An Oxford Sonnet
We came again to city of spires and dreams
There: were England's aspirations built and carved
In honeyed stone of Jurassic coral seas
Where minds are sculpted, nurtured and preserved
From ancient college, fount of Nation's learning
Beyond oak doors, The High tells tale in stone
The buildings speak eloquence of spirits' yearning
In stately palace and in humble home
In the sun wide eyed emperors gaze in bewildered senescence
By Sheldonian and Clarendon, symbols of human elation
And in night darkened square the Camera's massive presence
Is viscerally discerned as of primal creation
Here we sought to kindle embers and to start
The fires of invention in youthful hearts
Notes
'The High' = The High Street, lined with historic architecture.
The 'emperors' = the series of sculpted heads on pillars that fence The Sheldonian Theatre.
The Clarendon Building = a fine and noble example of English Baroque.
The Radcliffe Camera = Iconic large Rotunda housing a library
Contest entered with NA : Cityscape
11 Jan 2020
The Buddhists say: "If you used a raft to cross the river, there is no need to drag it along further". Oh, my good old dictionary! You're my raft in the great water of English language. Alas, we'll always be together.
I'm through half my life
but I've not reached the middle
of the river yet
Car Ride, Oxford, 2011
It's been raining long enough that I could not tell when day faded and night entered.
But there are too many other things to notice: a dim glow that
waxes and wanes as we turn,
translucent lines on the window massaged gently
into my face by the low beams.
The engine hums softly; it has already lulled Sister to sleep.
But not me.
Soon, I will dissolve into the rhythms that this machine provides. My assimilation will be total.
Except that they lurk just over the line between hill and horizon.
They are clearly giants.
I see limbs, ragged and spread into the sky.
Imagine if they uprooted and stormed out of the woods,
to wreck this pristine Oxford morning.
To paint the horizon orange far too early.
It's raining. I nod gently in farewell
until the rhythms take me
and I roll silently away.
Time for celebration
Time to gather up the best in one location
Back where high school dress codes were your main struggle
And if your outfit was right then you could score a double
As in two phone numbers from girls who may coincidentally know each other
So now your stuck in the small town cycle, where you won't trust another
Kickback at the Hampton's where the greats are invited
And if the boys get comfortable, the flames are ignited
No smoker, but what's wrong with a cigar and a shot of rum?
No rush for the thrill, I know my time will come
By now, you start to realize the brighter side of things
Like my necklace, gold watch, and new pinky ring
It's an overkill maybe, I just want to show the people what I've become
How to bake a dozen cookies out of one crumb
Building ways to take care of my parents once they hit their age
Leading by example, so my younger siblings can do the same
I still have boys who discredit me, the lies they tell are you kidding?
I heard she has my link bookmarked
So let's not mention who's really winning
Walking into meadows,
we wandered across the
steep bridge and watched
the students rowing.
The narrow boats moved
smoothly under the tall
trees and the oars glided
gracefully on the river.
as the instructor called
out from time to time.
Keeping their movements
in tune with nature, they
floated into the landscape,
and we moved further along
the rich carpet. Crackling
sounds filled our ears,
the burnished leaves fell
gently at our feet as our
time together evaporated.
Years later, memories
stir in the landscape
of our drawn out silence.
From Perfume of the Soil. Swan Press, 1999.
I stood by the bridge
Gazing down at the greens
Of the trees on the banks
At the union of streams.
Through mossed balustrade
Reflected I'd spy
The spires of Magdalen
In watery sky.
Leaves on the water
Red, yellow and gold
By unseen currents,
The near bank hold.
Bright against grey
In light autumn shower
A shimmering halo
Above the stone tower.
Wide wavelets circling
The still picture flows
A fast spreading mask
Where the hidden fish rose.
By the far bank
The ripple passes
Halting the gaze
Of hanging grasses.
Thinned willow and elm
Where pigeons coo,
As in the past
They forever will do.
Now Michaelmas comes,
New faces appear,
But Oxford unchanged
Will greet the new year.
Oxfords alteSchleusen
Das Gurgeln des Wassers am Abend
Sonst nur noch Stille
------------------------------------------
Old locks of Oxford
Gurgling of water at sundown
Otherwise only silence
------------------------------------------
Presas antiguas de Oxford
El gorgoteo del agua en la noche
Por lo demás sólo silencio
Oxford
The filigree of the old and wounded tower,
rays of stone to soften the sky,
Oxford,
rain falls to drown the silent dreams of history.
The Botanic Garden,
boats like wooden chains on the water.
From the Botanic Garden the flowers sing, together with the birds of
ancient history.
The old walls of soft and yellow stones,
forgotten architecture of present time.
And the years fall over humid streets,
fall like drops of deep pearls of a silent sea.
Across the colleges, I pass the parks, guided without deviation.
In the night the lights let
the streets flower, like phantastic flowers of spring.
The filigree of the city is deep and freshly engraved.
Rain falls to clean the sites,
with a new light.
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