Poems

One who loves – Who cares for his fellow man Who lives his life with honesty ‘ Integrity and’  respect Who loves and cares for the beauty with which his life surrounds Who knows just how fragile This home ‘“ this planet is and cares for it as if this jewel essentially was his So straight and tall he’ll grow As a cedar upon a stream His life pure Surely as a dream

The One (and only) ‘œguide’ for my use of Line and Colour Were those ever grand words spoken to Moses From the Burning Bush: ‘œRemove your sandals from your feet For the ground you stand upon is Holy’ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  * Twenty years later, I painted’  it ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  *

A dew-drop upon a Nasturtium leaf Murcurial The tiniest touch and with a flick of silver no trace is left upon its face Just the happy echo of its laugh Remembering a moment that can’™t return

Just a small corner in your heart I seek Wherein to rest ‘“ wherein to sleep And’  ‘neath my pillow a diary keep Of moments shared ‘“ within’  to creep May your’  heart’s rhythm bring to mind Smiles and sounds – moments kind Therein life’s treasures in repose to find So restful a place’  and peace sublime

A Prayer Honey-like flowing through artery and vein Sweetening. A river of love awakening the body; like the peel of bells Surely a call from a God that’s real That feeds a hungry spirit and soul sweet nectar of roses eglantine Strength and joy walk hand in hand And a song flows too – repeats and repeats “Surely Goodness and Love Shall follow me all the days of my life And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever*.” ‘ “*”‘  from Psalm 23

I’m mostly not the me you see, For inside, I’m a different me. As different just as one can be, As a butterfly to a white queen bee. The other me is not real at all, But made of the substance of thought. The other me is not bone and blood, But sounds from a songbird’s throat. I dance on the air, play debonaire, My spirit laughs out loud. I speak with God, count peas in a pod And play with a gnome in a cloud. The other me can float on a breeze And talk to the trees or a flower. The other me is not me at all, But a spirit that dreams in a bower. It ebbs …

I see you without seeing touch your face in the dark and feel your grace your sweet nature upon my skin I know you well yet love is ever new. I touch your soft face Your features ‘˜neath my fingers speak of gentleness yet firmness too worthy of a trusting heart. In the dark I touch your face and love’™s confirmed as though this is the first time my heart spoke and said ‘œIt’™s you I love.’

What joy! What joy! I fill my lungs with pine-pure air Not a care ‘“ I shout and laugh into the wind A child again A bird on its wing I laugh again aloud and sing Never wish to be another me The pines drip the night’™s chill dew So alive With you With you

Who loves not flowers of colours gay and loves not what they have to say? Yet their colours bright were not for us but for the bee – or perhaps a moth! Now in a vase humbly in their hues nostalgically they sigh for the night’™s soft dews. Never will one bear a seed and just because of human greed. Never to reach a goal endowed Just to mourn – to make men proud – A pleasure that’™s so soon gone ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Then to a collection bin be thrown!

Whispered nothings that mean so much. In the dark the feel of your body goes deep to reach my spirit’  and my soul. Would only this return to embrace ‘“ to quicken a receptive heart – my whispered nothings be ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  sonnets to an eager ear