You can certainly
c o n s t r u c t
and make a THING,
call it a poem if you will.
You can also
a horse to w a t e r,
but it might just stand there,
s t i l l .
I searched through empty rooms
hearing always the purr
though I found nothing but empty space,
little lost lumps of fluff and fur,
so I stopped and stayed within the gloom.
I looked around at forgotten art
seeing always a smiling face
and seeing there a steady hand,
each line lining an accurate trace,
joy returned to my heavy heart.
But now the child’s drawing must do
in place of masterpieces of old
as my searching mind grows slow
and the warmth within me grows cold
to remind me of the lost cat I once knew.
She’s my darling, my love
And it comes to us all,
That moment of truth
When you have to stand tall
At the indignity
Of losing a tooth.
I comforted, I cuddled
I wiped away tears
I said you’re a big girl
Of many brave years
And there’s the Tooth Fairy
We’ll give that a whirl.
So she hugged me
And she loved me
And we had our nice fix
Though I tell you right now,
There’s no bloody Tooth Fairy
She’s gone 46!
Enclosed, hidden, tucked away beside gentle hills
cosily covered by soft mist, held up by dim, orange lights.
A dog barks in the quiet and the street crumbles,
the walls sigh as plaster falls
and shabby shop fronts start to lie.
Sadder, and more serious,
the sky, at last, falls down,
and the gentle hills
Running, running in a race
Faster, faster feels the pace
Cut through the water
Over the blocked path
Breathless push now up the hill
Only a few miles to go
Nearer then against the foe
Positioning at the top men
Getting right beside them
Seeing the last klick coming
Concentrating on the running
Last few hundred now in sight
Powering home to win the fight
I did not cross the bridge that day,
Though stood and looked upon its arch,
Its mossy carpet, soft within the mist,
Lead to a wood of distant larch.
Perhaps with some regret, I might add,
I turned away from what I’d seen
And the future promise of a secret view
Became a thought of what might have been.
I guessed, as I listened to the distant sound
Of quiet thunderous waters fall,
I would one day return to that scene
And without the mists would see it all.
But in telling this little memory tale
My memory fades of that little track
And I can no longer find the bridge
And therefore never able to go back.
constellations of my heart
are a fanfare just for you;
the gallant rescuer of me,
what a joy of now salad days,
cross-country and the world,
I bide my time to be renewed.