Hello to poetry!

I love it here
this is the place
to try my hand
and show my face
but I’m afraid

so many here
have much to say
write lovely words
I read and pray
that I may too

and know my words
might touch a heart
or prompt a laugh
or tear apart
some thought that’s blind

finding friends like this
a special way
to meet and greet
so come what may
must learn my part
make bid to stay

Ode to a fickle spring

when seedlings from the nursery

are chosen in variety

timing is key


we wait for spring all winter through

when plants make plans to grow anew

and hope does too


but when to plant is quite an art

this year our spring was late to start

and all lost heart


some plants were killed off by the frost

through savage winds more blooms were lost

we count the cost


Poppies (1914 – 2019)

a poppy seed flies in the wind
and landing lightly on the earth
lies waiting for sun’s energy
to germinate and give it birth

a droplet falls from rainy skies
weak sunlight warming with its rays
until in spring new growth begins
it’s bloom sublime on summer days

blood red a field of poppies shine
each one a hundred others yield
these symbols ever in our hearts
for all who die on Flanders field


Voyage Revisited

Having reached three score years and ten (and passed it) I like to think that this particular poem reflects what living a life means for many people.



Light and Dark

When casting off we have no fears,
with youth and strength well fortified,
inside we’re older than our years
with dreams as yet to be denied.

Flags flying we set sail at speed,
horizons beckon far ahead,
of compasses we have no need,
forgetting all our parents said.

Foul winds may blow us far off course,
yet breasting powerful waves with zest,
no time to stop or feel remorse,
we tell ourselves it’s for the best.

We hit the doldrums now and then,
time hanging heavy on our hands.
Such stagnant doleful days are when
we feel no other understands.

But then a fresh new breeze will start,
and ease us forward carefully,
as gladly we again take heart,
and launch ourselves against life’s sea.

Yet over time strength fades away
until at last there is no more
and inwardly we spend our days
just drifting to that unknown shore.

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A sad farewell

I watched alone by sunlit edge
of pond and meadow touching hands,
those flirting leaves that twitched and swirled,
gold dessication incomplete.
While water ruffling to shore
beneath bowed willows’ trailing arms
pushed tender shards of russet brown
to curl contentedly in reeds.
No harsh sounds to be heard that day
– all living things were hushed and still,
yet autumn whispered in the breeze
and summer hummed a sad farewell.

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