This Time the Page is Waiting
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Tag Archives: Poetry
Missing
My friend I miss
The presence
Of your coexistence
In this world.
O to float free in those other realms ;
Only your echoes remain reverberating sweetly.
Sometimes late at night
I quietly sink
and drown my brother
in the passion of your word
strumming.
A Letter to the Other Side
Image
Did you Hear ?
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died
His family, and his lovers
by his side.
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died.
The music and the words won’t be quite
so gravelly
deep.
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died.
Won’t be long before Irving and Abraham
Are by his side.
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died,
Discarded mask
And costume that he wore,
To slip behind a curtain.
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died.
A village and a nation sighed.
Did you hear
That last
First
soft breath open:
Go by brooks love
Where fish stare,
Go by brooks love
I will pass there.
Autumn Light
Autumn
Brings grey
clouds
Cool evenings
And a
golden light
Lessened and
Fading quickly
Truths
Truths
I hope to have
written some truths.
Lies are so easy.
To pen
To be able
To record some truths
in the future !
That is difficult;
Lies are so obvious,
Not always cheap.
Easy, convenient,
Unexamined conclusions
Of the times.
Truths are not always so obvious.
Some take years
To ascertain
In the dark.
That’s why the best poets
Age, get so old,
With deep lines
in their foreheads,
or die so very young.
Some truths are never
to be,
cannot be,
known;
And only are present
in vague outlines,
In muted colours
Of the partly blind;
Only lightly,
Randomly,
Occasionally,
touched on.
This Existence
This existence is enough
To make you insane
The Beauty of it
And the pain
Only the comfort
Of each other ….
Fragrant Night
Joyous
Fragrant night
Without a care
In the company
Of friends and blood
On a winding path
With music and a
Wafting scent of lilac
In the air.
The Boatman Ages
The boatman’s black hair
has grown long
And his beard a peppered grey
His body has grown thin and older
But he still plays
His oar turned mandolin
and keeps his many golden secrets
as he sits and moves across the
shore.
A Poetry of Flowers
Compose poetry
In a language of flowers
Each Coloured Petal
A fragile,
Delicate stroke ;
Bouquet sent
A faint scent of lily,
A hint of Gardenia,
A love of soul
ever present;
A pure and hidden secret
Beyond life.
PWChaltas 