trust your gut, to know
it growls for truth, loud and strong
it's n'er found wanting,
or that's how the saying goes -
but skip fungal feasts of mold
'England is a nation of shopkeepers'
was never said by Bonaparte
but it was those self-same tradesmen
who kicked Napoleon’s ****
and
when at Waterloo they met
as he won the day
to give it a positive spin
one may only say,
"Wellington put the boot in!"
the wellington bomber dropped something
people screamed and ran for cover
but then paper pieces fell
softly fluttering down
falling like snowflakes
someone shouted:
it’s raining
dollar
bills
Jack Horne for Nette’s Imagination contest, 7th June
It did not seem so then, but O I wish again
I could spend those days of joy with you
For there I learned that joy is just a rain
That must disappear sometime that a dew
May sparkle on a rose
And a cloud may have meaning in our woes
You left me when in the drought of love, so
Would learn not to hold too tightly when
I pick a rainbow from the ground. I was slow
To heed, and O the pains my body rend
But true love never goes
Unless it comes again, it is the way river flows.
I held you too tightly when we met, and so you
Left me to refresh your breath. You came
Again so I would forgive: love returns when it's true
But I thought you a spirit no man could tame
The way we think is why we lose
Love is the river, you the water that there flows.
Joy, they named for themselves, the future's blind
Oyster to drink your sand. In salt tides love rises
Yearning to part the twinning shell and there resign.
Empress of the emerald seas, my ship for rich prizes
Listed its name, cargoing only your pure laden weight
Anchorless against the blustering report of bad winds.
I desired you alone, and for you I you alone I freight
Nature's nagging Testament jettisoned among the fins
Eternal glimpse of glee. O how my ship prized your worth
Well in tons delicious of my dreams, your sweet waters
Ecstatic upon the plunging foray of my keel, port
Leaning through tempting triangles, the pirate pesters
Lack speed's pursuit, and through doldrums I evade
Incessant wrongs, until your wild waves wanton decree
Numbed wind and sail in me. Flirtingly you delayed
Giving my ship to port, and then soon abandoned me
Tideless in a salt bog of tears where I logged deceit
Once in a while I come down to the sea, the old receipt
Nested in my mastless fingers, to wail my loss in you.
I found myself shedding a tear at a train seat upon seeing the sights leaving the Wellington city train port to Woburn.
I don't mind being called a sentimental freak, if I could just have any describe more than I can the beauty that leaves
one more than enamored, bewildered and perplexed. How is it possible for nature to marry humanity and vice versa?
How does it happen when the city buildings lay backdrop to the turquoise waters of the pacific ocean and vice versa?
How does its waves recognize no rules to follow on where it comes and goes or the wind for that matter? How does the
birds play so freely as if happily almost touching the great body of water, back to air, then back again to the base
surface of the waters? How does the water vessels cruise peacefully with some other ships finding their places like
home amidst the many other small boats around? How does the sun give off its summer heat amidst the windy air?
How did I end up being in that rugged train witnessing all the massive spectacle of beauty in a country a million miles
away from my homeland? Tell me why I should help myself to a silent tear.
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