LONG HAIR

Beautiful copper hair,
October’s sunlight blesses.
Tossed in golden air,
Tumbling waist length fair.
A swirling cape
Hugs a slender shape.

It’s Autumn everywhere.
Oh! Such shining hair!
The young girl confesses
She will cut her gleaming tresses.

To be equal with the others
And play freely with her brothers.
Among the falling leaves
Her shorn locks fly
And all of beauty grieves
As we walk by

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GRATEFUL

I reach for my lost youth
To feel the breeze on my face
Recalling how I searched for truth
And moved from place to place.

Remembering how sun and rain
Filled me with wonder and joy
With a freedom hard to explain
Which old age can’t destroy.

The furture a desert shrinking
The present endurable yet
I constantly am thinking
Of things it is best to forget.

There’s relief in jokes shared
And prayer is a focus for good.
But I wonder why I am spared.
This is yet to be understood.

TO A BLACKBIRD

Little bird cold but free
You are not captive like me.
Little bird don’t fly away.
In my vision please do stay.
I am a blissful captive yet
I have plenty to regret.
Shielded from the winter’s blast
I am a prisoner of my past.

Little bird in the tree
There is a bond with you and me;
Ever, ever shall it be.
I will pray that you survive
Despite the snow that you
Will thrive.

I love your song.
Its music makes me feel strong.
Just knowing that you fly free
Sends joy to chase eternity.

NOT ALONE

How bitter sweet the things unshared
When for company prepared
At St Martins, Ludgate Hill
The pianist does with music fill.
A place of beauty, panelled dark,
Dismissing loneliness so stark.
Destroying sad morbid fears
Brass gleaming on the chandeliers.

And if one yearning after truth
Will sing a hymn to swell the roof
And leave behind a coin as token
For the silence that was broken,
Having gazed on paintings fine,
The gallery and cross divine.
Will pray her thanks for the grace
That brought her to the holy place?

SEVENTEEN

When I was seventeen
I worked a Capstan machine.
Made screws for a small firm.
Watching metal shaved,
It was the first time
I got money saved
When I was seventeen.

We stood on a stone floor.
Brown oil gushed on to our
Overalls and arms.
It wouldn’t wash out.
It was something to write
Home about.
I was so keen
When I was seventeen.

Although I loved the job
The Foreman thought
I was a snob.
I kept breaking tools.
I felt all kind of fools
When I asked for a repair.
The Foreman began to swear.
So I walked out,
My future in doubt.

I was quite mean
When I was seventeen!

PASTORAL BEQUEST

Silver veils of vapour
Float above the grass
Which cattle tread
To shadows as they pass.

Then distant thunder rumbles
From mauve skies.
Time hovers where the
Verdant hilltops rise.

Rain stripes platinum
In scented air.
Trees bend towards the sky
As if in prayer.

Leaves quiver in breezes
Of green shade.
Light glimmers in patterns
On the leafy glade.