What Will Happen?

Recently I have been getting several references to my first year here in Cornwall, things people [and other beings] have been saying and questions they have posed. Looking for a poem to add here, I chose the year 1984 at random and the second poem I looked at, though written nearly six years prior to the move from London, did show the way my mind was working and some of the fears that were beginning to surface, the "pot-bound" reference was actually from a friend who said that if I didn't move fairly soon then I probably never would. Thinking back, I feel that Frances was one of my guardian angels - gently encouraging my move out of London. If she ever reads this blog and recognises herself, I would like to say - Thank you, Frances you really helped me to do what was right for me, bless you. Please get in touch, add a reply to this post.

Now, on with the poem...



What Will Happen? 29 Oct 84

Sitting in the gathering gloom
I feel a twinge of fear
At the thought of leaving
I've been here most of my life
So I don't know if the feelings I have
Are due to the fact
That the roots go deep
Or if I'm pot-bound

At the same time as the fear
I feel hope
I would like to move to Sennen Cove
The sea, the sand, the open spaces
The loneliness - maybe

What will happen?

Image via Wikipedia

Now I know 'what will happen' and I am really glad it did. Didn't actually move to Sennen Cove but only four miles north of there - but it is still home.

Thank you for reading and putting up with my memories ☺

Easter 1984

This was written to commemorate [if that is the right word to use] a visit to my in-laws in the middle of Dartmoor in Devon. It took the form of a series of linked Senryū and was actually composed over that weekend, almost as the events unfolded.



Easter 1984 27 Apr & 02 May 84


Arrival : Thursday

Clothed within night's cloak
The stars barely dimmed by the
Light from the kitchen


The stay

I : Friday

The morning chorus;
The cock'rel, the sheep and a
Dog who sings to friends


II : Saturday

Dry. The tinderbox
Moor catches easily. Flames
In the evening sky


III : Sunday

Guarding against dogs
We walk the Mariners Way
And watch a swallow


Return : Monday

The open road! Though
Trapped behind a caravan
We still caught the bus




The Mariner's Way is a fairly long distance path linking north and south coasts of Devon and passing through Dartmoor. The only part of this path I have any real knowledge of is the length that passes just outside the border of what used to be my father-in-law's land and for a few miles beyond in both directions, north and south from there.

I contemplated adding an image here but felt that the mind can provide better than the offerings from other places.

Small new poem from 2009

If it was not for the fact that I attended the Mazey Day event in Penzance this poem would have appeared a lot earlier in the day. It is also an excuse for there only being one poem here today, it is only little but well formed and I feel quite pleased with it...



Evening Vision 25 Jun 09

Fractured cloud
Letting random streams
Of sunlight
Through
Onto the world

Image by julian- via Flickr

The link above takes you to information on the Golowan Festival of which Mazey Day is but one part.

More poems, new and some from my history, to come soon...

A few from 1990

Just a few short poems from 1990 this time, two of them seem to indicate that it may have been rather damp that year - I cannot recall whether it was or not but my weather inspired poems are a guide, possibly inaccurate, or may just indicate the mood of the author.



Kestrel 28 Aug 90

Whisper soft, against
A sky drawn grey with cloud,
Hunter seeks his prey
Winged death

Image via Wikipedia

Messenger 25 Feb 90

Seagulls soaring, cry
Tell of storms, wind, rain to come
Fly on, messengers


A Dark Night 26 Aug 90

A dark night
Windy
Cloud bound,
Following
A day
With rainbows
On a dark sky
Street lamps
Woke on
A dark day

Image by Lost Archetype via Flickr

I don't think my mood was all that damp, dark and gloomy.

Other poems - for another day - may show differently.

Mulberry Fair

A little explanation here before the poem; Mulberry Fair is a name I use to represent the Horn Fair that used to take place [I don't know if it still does, I shall try to verify this soon] in October every year in Charlton. The Mulberry tree of the title was planted in 1608 by order of King James in an effort to cultivate silkworms. I remember 'harvesting' a few of the berries each year, delicious they were too.



Mulberry Fair 18 Dec 81

I went down to Mulberry Fair
For to wed My Lady whom I left there
But I found she'd married somebody else
---- that she met at Mulberry Fair

So I said to My Lady is this really true
That you have left me for somebody new
For I only left you a short while ago
--- right here at Mulberry Fair

Then she answered me sadly with tears in her eyes
I waited for you - oh nightly I would cry
But you never returned - two years you were gone
--- from me and Mulberry Fair

So go young man and find another girl
Whose heart, with your lies, you can set in a whirl
But leave me alone, I no longer love you
--- be gone from Mulberry Fair
--- be gone from Mulberry Fair

Then with no backward glance she was gone from my side
Then in vain I attempted, my tears for to hide
As My Lady she left me standing there
--- alone at Mulberry Fair


Why sir, a voice said, why do you sigh?
For the Fair is a time to laugh not to cry
Come with me and I'll give you a reason to smile
--- and she led me from Mulberry Fair



Fickle or what?

Image by Jeff Van Campen via Flickr

Landscapes

It is only because I am re-reading these poems in what is essentially random order that I realise that I have an obsession with; the sea, dreams, dawn, the list goes on.

Do you really think that I care? I am having far too much fun playing with words.

Today's offering comes from 1997 and continues some of these themes.



Landscapes 20 Sep 97

Across
The landscapes of our souls
Travelling.
Where we are bound
I do not know
But though I cannot see
Somewhere

Somehow
We dream
In the darkest night
Moondark
A vision forms

The landscape
While dark
Holds our nightmare thoughts
The phantom dreams
Where night
Meets the half formed dawn
Before the sun can wake the day

Shadows
Flee before the sun
Terrors
Try to hide in the shadows
Within the landscapes
Of our souls

We travel on
To an unknown future
Dreams unfulfilled
Fulfilling
Some of our dreams
We sleep
And let the dawn
Illuminate the landscapes
Of our souls

Image by neeZhom ~ away ~ via Flickr

I feel that this one poem is enough for this time, I like it, hope you did too.

Seasons - 1985

This first poem today is strongly related to "Annua" to be seen elsewhere in this blog, once again it was only when re-reading the poem for inclusion into this page that I actually noticed the similarity in feel.

I should add here that the views on incarnation and lack of re-incarnation held by the storyteller are not my own.

I offer...


Seasons 02 Mar 85


Prelude

In seasons moving,
Swimming, dreaming
Sleep, the strongest motive


Spring

Water born
From man and woman
In a moment
Of white heat
Passion.
In that time
When everything is new
You live;
Finding words,
Singing songs
Your ancestors wrote
And were new a hundred years
Ago.
Imagining future worlds
And wondering
What the years will bring;
Bright eyes beneath
The Christmas tree,
Blowing out candles
On the cake,
Wearing your first
School uniform
Travelling on
Always...
In hope


Summer

Growing cynical, you work
You carve your niche
In the cliff face
That you see before you
Knowing it can
Make or break;
Keeping the same
Brave
Imperturbable
Face on.
Wearing a mask
That only others
Can see


Autumn

Watching your children
Grow
Older.
Eventually they fly the nest
And leave you
Wondering
Where the years went


Winter

Grey skies, grey hair
Your memories
Are all
The dreams of yesterday,
Rather than tomorrow,
Are more important
To you


Epilude

The year is done
The dream is revealed
As fiction.
Now motionless
You sleep.



Now, just to change the mood slightly, I offer two short poems...



Gossamer Wings 25 Oct 85

On gossamer wings, in the pale light of dawn, I fly.
Riding the wind from the sun
Into the west over cold mist shadows
To the welcoming arms of the moon



And finally - for this time - another Senryū, entitled...



A Song of Summer Winds 29 May 85

Summer wind; warmed by
Distant Dragons, slumbering;
Gently stirring leaves



Thanks for reading hope you enjoyed.

Thank You

Sometimes it takes a long time to complete a poem; when I was browsing through the potential offerings I came across one which had a mark asking me "what is this word?" Reading it made me realise that two words were actually missing from the space - I added them and now present it for your reading pleasure.



Thank You 10 Feb 01

You sang your songs for me
And danced through my heart
The words you gave
To the world
To say
That you love me
I will treasure
Forever
Thank you for your song
For me
Thank you for the words of love
That will remain
Within my mind and
Within my heart
Until the day
When we can walk together again
Under eternity's skies

Image by Bob.Fornal via Flickr

Thank you for reading my works - Love

Passport

I was looking at something on television the other night and caught a glimpse of something that triggered a memory in me and this poem just flowed.




Passport 13 Jun 09

I recall
The white cardboard shoebox
I kept under my bed
Hidden from the world

In it were the mementoes
Of the little events
Which meant so much
At the time

The little scrap
Of paper, slightly drunk she
Tied round my finger and said
"Now we are engaged"

Older still the Valentine's Day card
Presented by two girls
In school, to much amusement
From my friends

The ticket stubs
From the many concerts
I attended, with my friends
Memories

The passport to that long-vanished land
Of my youth
I have not returned
But I still remember that country



I actually wanted to put an image of a shoebox here but couldn't find one - no matter, you know what one looks like.

Don't you?

The early years

This posting comes from a point near the beginning of my adult writings, the period when I actually started to collect and collate my works. This concept sounds rather grandiose but all it really means is that I started to type them up - two fingered at first but gradually more fingers started to join the game.

Although the writing style is different in these poems to the current ones, some of the themes are still evident, like this...


The Seeds of Time 09 Jul 96

Through parted fingers slowly slip
The purple petals of time's flower
Her seeds already scattered far
Beyond the grasp of man.
Fleeting through the boundless canopy
The stars faintly show their path
As parasols driven by the coursing wind
They tumble endlessly toward their goal
Then falling through the midnight sky
Of some forgotten Earth, they grow
And start the ancient mosaic again

Life upon the desert sand does grow
A parody of the floating forms within the sea
Wind, sea and sand caress the seed
And soon the purple painted fields
Breathe in the sun, bask in the light.
Time enough to grow and sleep to rest to play.
Then frantic flowers fertilised, they fruit.
Wind takes the seeds up to the dark
Where journeys end; begin
And deep within the eternal night, adrift they fly
The seeds of time, once scattered, never end
Their flight between the worlds of fate



Summer Passing 26 Jul 76

Time pass. The summer days slip
In orchestrated simple melodies
Cascading floral emblematic themes
Symphonic echoes of a distant place.
Now southward fly the geese.
In arrow formation, melancholy cry,
Away from the louring grey, fly.
Mourning has come again, enshrouding snow.



And from a bit later in the year, with a similar internal theme I offer...



Autumn Fugue 03 Sep 76

Autumn draws the shadows across the land
As the sun dips further to the south,
The geese are moving on, and,
Soon the painted leaves will fall.

Evenings draw close about my mind,
Clothe my thoughts in sombre brown
To match the darkening day, and
Rippling flame, like fingers, plays within the grate.

Night falls and the stars shine out in undimmed majesty
Frost falls and the walls are rimed with white;
Morning comes and the leaves are gone
In whispering streams along the road.


How soon the summer passed;
How short the autumn.
Winter's dragon breath clouds the sky
And fills the day with grey.




That's all for now, I'll be back soon with more to delight you. Peace my friends.