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Paul Howard Poem
At the bottom of my garden there is a quiet spot,
where I choose to ponder my life, my times, my lot.
Screened from my house by bushes, there is a wooden seat,
some mirrors and some gravel, it's rather small and neat.
In this corner sits a Buddah who smiles at me with love.
And a figure of a Green man hangs from a branch above.
Reflected in the mirror is a Celtic granite cross,
to give me help and comfort when I think of pain and loss.
Ganesh also sits there with his elaphantine face,
and Pan with pipes in marble adds humour life and grace.
These spiritual images dispel all thoughts of strife.
Clear my thoughts of chaos and bring peace into my life.
Copyright © Paul Howard | Year Posted 2020
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Details |
Paul Howard Poem
Spin the words
Around my head
Verbs and adverbs
Nouns and pronouns
such poor stuff
To hold my emotions
At bay
Why
Cannot I
Use
Colour?
Copyright © Paul Howard | Year Posted 2020
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Details |
Paul Howard Poem
If I could hold you one more time
and feel your dancing arms in mine.
If we could once more take the floor,
and move in music as before.
If we could just roll back the years
and lose our aches and pains and tears.
If we could swoop and turn and glide.
dipping and swaying on music's tide.
If I could clasp your body tight
and dance with you all through the night.
If just once more a waltz time beat
could take the music to our feet
And if a foxtrot's elegance
could once more our hearts entrance
If samba's throbbing gaiety
could make our limbs dance young and free.
If the tango full of love
could make our spirits soar above
the ravages of times decay;
then we could dance our grief away.
Copyright © Paul Howard | Year Posted 2020
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Details |
Paul Howard Poem
The chapel, with wood lined walls, honey coloured
gleams in the light of candles and lanterns.
Ever smiling elders younger than most.
With sharp suits and sharper smiles
bow us to our seats.
The groom, in hired clothing .
Waits
The bishop nods, and strange eyes burn behind pebble glasses.
The organist plays unknown music.
Changing to Pachabel's canon in D when a rustle of silk annonces the bride.
Strange words and rites drift around this place,
and I wonder why I am with these unknown people of God.
My friend turns, and with his bride moves down the aisle.
He smiles at me when he passes,
and in his delight all strangeness leaves
Copyright © Paul Howard | Year Posted 2020
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