03-07-2013, 05:19 AM
Edit 1.
The pyre. (For Rob…2001)
When buoyant boyish hours were spent amid
wild summer flowers; there in the haze,
of distant younger days, each little path led its own pleasant way.
Enthusiasm unchecked, unbound. Hope could blossom free,
dreams go un-confounded. No scare of ownership
had crept between, yourself and eternal glorious green.
The only bondage to soul or eye
…..A high blue encircling sky.
Then as wild water will toss a stone, youth spat you out
and left you alone. And hope that flies so free
on the breeze, was now perceived no more could be.
What good is love and boyish hours, in a world
where love lies cold, strewn with wilted flowers?
Slowly crept your love away, like morning
leading night astray. No more her song
was heard within, a heart encased in thickening skin.
The fathomless rules beyond surmising. The hated sign,
the petty minds. Red tape, Boundaries. Blows unkind.
Endless is the weariness. Pain within the ownership.
Beauteous green then turned her eye,
…at your passing softly sighed.
After winter winded your heart, scored and frost bitten,
imprudent spring, sent green unbidden. Then tender
shoots are sent to shine, forgotten treasures green, divine.
So you returned to beautiful green. But first love
is carefree, not readily re-caught or seen when sought.
You thought to make a clearing of your own, (despite
the thicket that has grown!) To seek to sow
rich grass and clover; the field has mossy stones all over.
Carefree upon your lover’s bed, you danced your youthful tango.
A wild fandango, through the verdant tapestry, in and out
of threads. And crowned, you waltz your homestead.
The path now hard, uncompromising,
shards of life for psychoanalysing
Mindlessly thrashing.
Lashing out.
Crushing the wistful paths of deer.
Original post.
Hi, I've been really struggling to get myself writing these last couple of weeks so i thought I would take a look at an old poem. Not happy with what i've got but was hoping for some pointers or a creative boot up the arse.
(original poem below if anyone interested).
The pyre. (For Rob…2001)
When buoyant boyish hours were spent amid
wild shining summer flowers; there in the haze,
of distant younger days, each little path led its own pleasant way.
Enthusiasm unchecked, unbound. Hope could blossom free,
dreams go un-confounded. No scare of ownership
had crept between, yourself and eternal beauteous green.
The only bondage to soul or eye
…..A high blue encircling sky.
Then as wild water will toss a stone, youth spat you out
and left you alone. And hope that flies so free
on the breeze, was now perceived no more could be.
What good is love and boyish hours, in a world
where love lies cold, strewn with wilted flowers?
Slowly crept your love away, like morning
leading night astray. No more her song
was heard within, a heart encased in thickening skin.
The fathomless rules beyond surmising. The hated sign,
the petty minds. Red tape, Boundaries. Blows unkind.
Endless is the weariness. The pain of ownership.
Beauteous green then turned her eye,
…at your passing softly sighed.
Whilst winter winds left your heart frost bitten.
Imprudent spring, sent green unbidden. Then tender
shoots are sent to shine, forgotten treasures green, divine.
So you returned to beautiful green. But first love
is carefree, not readily re-caught or seen when sought.
You thought to make a clearing of your own, (despite
the thicket that has grown!) To seek to sow
rich grass and clover; the field has mossy stones all over.
Carefree upon your lover’s bed, you danced your youthful tango
A wild fandango, through the verdant tapestry, in and out
of threads. And crowned you waltz your homestead.
The path now hard, uncompromising,
shards of life for psychoanalysing
Mindlessly thrashing.
Lashing out.
Crushing the wistful paths of deer.
Original poem written for neighbouring farmer after foot n mouth
(For Rob)
When buoyant boyish hours
Where spent amid wild shining summer flowers,
And in the haze of (now distant) younger days
Each little path led it’s own pleasant way.
Enthusiasm still as yet unchecked, unbounded
Hope could blossom free, dreams go un-confounded.
No scare of ownership had crept between
yourself and eternal beauteous green.
The only bondage to soul or eye
…..A high blue encircling sky.
Then as wild water will toss a stone
youth spat you out and left you alone.
And hope that once had blossomed free
now was perceived no more could be.
What good are love, warmth and boyish hours,
in a world where love lies cold, and strewn with wilted flowers?
And slowly crept your love away,
as morning leading night astray.
Beauteous green then turned her eye
and at your passing did softly sigh.
No more her song was heard within
a heart encased in thickening skin.
(Mournfully moans mid-morrow
eyes of longing and deep sorrow)
Winter winds speak of times twice bitten.
Whilst imprudent spring sends forth green unbidden.
And tender shoots are sent to shine
within the mind forgotten treasures green, divine.
So you returned to beauteous green
where sights eternal can been seen.
But first love is not so readily re-caught;
Her pleasures less carefree the second time sought.
The path now hard and uncompromising
With fathomless rules beyond surmising.
The hated sign, the petty minds
Red tape, Boundaries. Blows unkind.
Endless is the weariness, the bondage in the ownership.
Where is the shining? Where is the high blue?
Where is green now grey has found you?
(emotions come and go… like tidal ebb and flow
Without a rhythm, time moves oh so slow.
And passing strangers stop and stare
Devoid of vision they do not care)
So many questions. But a mind is not designed
To fund answers to all questions…and thus has resigned!
All help offered, considered naught but futile resistance –
-then, in a clearing through the mist, Eternal shows clearly in the distance.
But you would have a clearing of your own
(despite the years of thicket that have grown!)
You seek to sow rich grass and clover
Although the field is piled with mossy stones all over.
Yet carefree in your youth did tread
Among the rich tapestry of Eternal's bed.
And now you would seek to clear instead
Despite the nagging questions in your head?
(and why is right so difficult and arduous
wrong so easy, attractive and amorous?)
Eternal will heal you if you will subscribe to their ways
(if not then they’ll get you when you go to your grave!)
Strive all you like, this healing will come
With the strength of another, despite all you have done.
The pyre. (For Rob…2001)
When buoyant boyish hours were spent amid
wild summer flowers; there in the haze,
of distant younger days, each little path led its own pleasant way.
Enthusiasm unchecked, unbound. Hope could blossom free,
dreams go un-confounded. No scare of ownership
had crept between, yourself and eternal glorious green.
The only bondage to soul or eye
…..A high blue encircling sky.
Then as wild water will toss a stone, youth spat you out
and left you alone. And hope that flies so free
on the breeze, was now perceived no more could be.
What good is love and boyish hours, in a world
where love lies cold, strewn with wilted flowers?
Slowly crept your love away, like morning
leading night astray. No more her song
was heard within, a heart encased in thickening skin.
The fathomless rules beyond surmising. The hated sign,
the petty minds. Red tape, Boundaries. Blows unkind.
Endless is the weariness. Pain within the ownership.
Beauteous green then turned her eye,
…at your passing softly sighed.
After winter winded your heart, scored and frost bitten,
imprudent spring, sent green unbidden. Then tender
shoots are sent to shine, forgotten treasures green, divine.
So you returned to beautiful green. But first love
is carefree, not readily re-caught or seen when sought.
You thought to make a clearing of your own, (despite
the thicket that has grown!) To seek to sow
rich grass and clover; the field has mossy stones all over.
Carefree upon your lover’s bed, you danced your youthful tango.
A wild fandango, through the verdant tapestry, in and out
of threads. And crowned, you waltz your homestead.
The path now hard, uncompromising,
shards of life for psychoanalysing
Mindlessly thrashing.
Lashing out.
Crushing the wistful paths of deer.
Original post.
Hi, I've been really struggling to get myself writing these last couple of weeks so i thought I would take a look at an old poem. Not happy with what i've got but was hoping for some pointers or a creative boot up the arse.
(original poem below if anyone interested).The pyre. (For Rob…2001)
When buoyant boyish hours were spent amid
wild shining summer flowers; there in the haze,
of distant younger days, each little path led its own pleasant way.
Enthusiasm unchecked, unbound. Hope could blossom free,
dreams go un-confounded. No scare of ownership
had crept between, yourself and eternal beauteous green.
The only bondage to soul or eye
…..A high blue encircling sky.
Then as wild water will toss a stone, youth spat you out
and left you alone. And hope that flies so free
on the breeze, was now perceived no more could be.
What good is love and boyish hours, in a world
where love lies cold, strewn with wilted flowers?
Slowly crept your love away, like morning
leading night astray. No more her song
was heard within, a heart encased in thickening skin.
The fathomless rules beyond surmising. The hated sign,
the petty minds. Red tape, Boundaries. Blows unkind.
Endless is the weariness. The pain of ownership.
Beauteous green then turned her eye,
…at your passing softly sighed.
Whilst winter winds left your heart frost bitten.
Imprudent spring, sent green unbidden. Then tender
shoots are sent to shine, forgotten treasures green, divine.
So you returned to beautiful green. But first love
is carefree, not readily re-caught or seen when sought.
You thought to make a clearing of your own, (despite
the thicket that has grown!) To seek to sow
rich grass and clover; the field has mossy stones all over.
Carefree upon your lover’s bed, you danced your youthful tango
A wild fandango, through the verdant tapestry, in and out
of threads. And crowned you waltz your homestead.
The path now hard, uncompromising,
shards of life for psychoanalysing
Mindlessly thrashing.
Lashing out.
Crushing the wistful paths of deer.
Original poem written for neighbouring farmer after foot n mouth
(For Rob)
When buoyant boyish hours
Where spent amid wild shining summer flowers,
And in the haze of (now distant) younger days
Each little path led it’s own pleasant way.
Enthusiasm still as yet unchecked, unbounded
Hope could blossom free, dreams go un-confounded.
No scare of ownership had crept between
yourself and eternal beauteous green.
The only bondage to soul or eye
…..A high blue encircling sky.
Then as wild water will toss a stone
youth spat you out and left you alone.
And hope that once had blossomed free
now was perceived no more could be.
What good are love, warmth and boyish hours,
in a world where love lies cold, and strewn with wilted flowers?
And slowly crept your love away,
as morning leading night astray.
Beauteous green then turned her eye
and at your passing did softly sigh.
No more her song was heard within
a heart encased in thickening skin.
(Mournfully moans mid-morrow
eyes of longing and deep sorrow)
Winter winds speak of times twice bitten.
Whilst imprudent spring sends forth green unbidden.
And tender shoots are sent to shine
within the mind forgotten treasures green, divine.
So you returned to beauteous green
where sights eternal can been seen.
But first love is not so readily re-caught;
Her pleasures less carefree the second time sought.
The path now hard and uncompromising
With fathomless rules beyond surmising.
The hated sign, the petty minds
Red tape, Boundaries. Blows unkind.
Endless is the weariness, the bondage in the ownership.
Where is the shining? Where is the high blue?
Where is green now grey has found you?
(emotions come and go… like tidal ebb and flow
Without a rhythm, time moves oh so slow.
And passing strangers stop and stare
Devoid of vision they do not care)
So many questions. But a mind is not designed
To fund answers to all questions…and thus has resigned!
All help offered, considered naught but futile resistance –
-then, in a clearing through the mist, Eternal shows clearly in the distance.
But you would have a clearing of your own
(despite the years of thicket that have grown!)
You seek to sow rich grass and clover
Although the field is piled with mossy stones all over.
Yet carefree in your youth did tread
Among the rich tapestry of Eternal's bed.
And now you would seek to clear instead
Despite the nagging questions in your head?
(and why is right so difficult and arduous
wrong so easy, attractive and amorous?)
Eternal will heal you if you will subscribe to their ways
(if not then they’ll get you when you go to your grave!)
Strive all you like, this healing will come
With the strength of another, despite all you have done.
