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Sarah Hand Poem
Wild little brook in such a hurry
Lifting your face to the sun
Tumbling over the hours and days
Chatting along as you run
Hundreds of tiny glass sail boats
Blinking and glittering by
Before crafty cumulus scoops them away
To moorings way up in the sky
Babble on little brook unrelenting
Casting your watery spells
Murmuring muttering mumbles
The peel of your bubble bells
A flurry of pink blossom petals
Whipped high by a southerly gust
Showers your face in confetti
To alter your pace as it must
Hush now little brook, are you listening?
And can you hear yourself think?
With the dragonflies darting and zipping
Magically gone in a blink
Babble on little brook while we’re sleeping
Determine your course in the dark
And we will awaken tomorrow
To the flute of the meadowlark
Copyright © Sarah Hand | Year Posted 2016
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Sarah Hand Poem
When I think about the woods I’m
Humbled by the architecture of the naked trees
Solid, tranquil, every reaching as I climb
Higher towards the southerly breeze
In Beaulieu, when it rains mother can be seen
Dashing out between the showers to pull the weeds
She misses many stuck in between
Which the wind carries and the plant reseeds
At the river mouth the water turns
And the swans take off graciously over the tide pool
The ducklings settle back into the ferns
Settle down hazy mist and make the evening cool
Strong floral scents carried far on a zephyr
Echoing sound of match point from the court
Baby calves playfully jump and softly nose the heifer
Hear their mooing chatter as they lightly cavort
The donkey foals have such big heads
Post-like legs with sturdy feet
They need big pillows for their beds
They look so cuddly and oh so sweet
Hey where’s the water gone?
Someone’s pulled the plug
When will I see the return of the swan?
To my home, my tranquil drug
Copyright © Sarah Hand | Year Posted 2016
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Sarah Hand Poem
I sealed my mind with sellotape
I’m in a cardboard castle
I wander through the flimsy rooms
Within this fragile parcel
A false sense of security
That this is my protection
A cardboard place in which to hide
Avoiding all reflection
No shadows play upon these walls
To cause my mind confusion
No shafts of light to cheat me here
Or disrupt my illusion
Yet still within I cannot settle
Finding no solace or peace
This place built for sanctuary
Offers no release
No warriors come challenging
No contenders to face
I only fight one battle
The being in this place
You cannot build a castle
With paper chains and leather
And wonder what the secret is
And how it holds together
Without my thoughts to light my mind
The edges break and fray
Without a path to take me on
The corridors are grey
I thought I’d build a castle
To block you from my view
How could I know the truth of it?
I built it out of you.
Copyright © Sarah Hand | Year Posted 2016
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Sarah Hand Poem
Who turned the taps off so tight?
Let’s dance through the evening
Embrace through the night.
Sip from the fountain, cool
morning sun on our faces,
blinking, so bright.
Laughing, racing
drinking it in. Follow the traces.
Cutting a dash, careless delight
Swish panache, beautiful,
Flashing white
with delicate graces
and quick as a flash –
On with the chases!
Skip with me through the lane.
Sipping tea in the teashop
First drop on the window
Sheltering from the rain.
Strawberries and cream,
Endless chatter
Rivulets race down the pain.
Drinking heady
our lyrical patter.
Whispering secrets, only we know,
No matter. Steady flow.
Little green leaves unfold.
Take my hand and run with me.
Float through the fields
To hide in the wood,
breathless streams of consciousness.
Clothing our bodies in ferny fronds,
setting our passions free.
Resealing the bonds
Stealing moments, understood.
Increasing circles; continuously
respond.
Ready together, releasing the links,
freeing the chain;
safely under the pillow.
We meet in our dreams,
Hand stitching the seams, our
silken bodies, supple as willow.
Drifting vessels remain.
Look through each trickle and drop,
Little liquid beads
Never stop.
Fulfilling our needs.
Don’t turn the tap off too tight,
it starves the soul from inside.
We cannot tell when
We might hitch a ride
on this positivity
Take charge of the fight
and stay with me.
Recognize the gravity.
Come close, hold me tonight.
Restless hearts, we will be,
until then.
Copyright © Sarah Hand | Year Posted 2016
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Sarah Hand Poem
Leaves are falling once more.
Remembrance is trickling and passing across
a respectful but not inevitable thresh-hold.
Not today please, I’m not ready so soon.
I can hear the sounds of my memory song
although the words have faded.
Time clocks up the price
and the cost – like memories, become dearer.
Others impose their versions
And twist and reshape the truths
Until the recollections are infested.
I’m still panning and filtering through the precious dust.
If I’m being too self-assured, believing
That the flavours were once truly complimentary,
It’s only because I can’t taste them anymore.
Incandescence and essences drain away like rain.
What was the light like?
Imagination and reminders play tricks.
These are distant, sacred things that deserve respect.
Hidden from view, the roots are rusting.
Breezy, lapping drowsy reoccurring
pains and pleasures that fray and trace and
entertain me with pretentious style.
Like storing breath in invisible vessels.
Can you remember the last snow?
When have we ever really found time?
Locked in little corpuscular prisms,
Soundless pumping, slipping away like lost stitches.
Some sort of emotional rescue from imagination,
A colossal void filled to overflow.
Racing thoughts competing in patterns
And linking in reverse
Shining little mirages
So arresting in front of my eyes,
Coaxing me to play inside.
Another reunion with my beloved father
Come back and delight me again.
Awaken me with secret nudges.
Covertly I’ll feed from the contentment
While we hum along to the tune.
Copyright © Sarah Hand | Year Posted 2016
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