Saturday, 10 April 2010

The Early Years

Poems from old notebooks, over 10 years old.



Flicker, Flicker (29.12.98)



Flicker, flicker,

The lights through the trees,

Flash by.

As we roll on our journey to Watford Gap and beyond.



Holiness (30.12.98)



Jesus came to me in a dream one night.

He whispered my name,

And caressed my cheek,

He told me he loved me

In my hour of need.

So now when I pray.

I don't ask for me.

Just ask for forgiveness

For humanity.



Winter (18.1.99)



The sun glints on the river,

Like a giant mirror flashing light.

Buildings like trees,

Flank the water,

And January chill is all around.



Jack Frost's patterns are dispersed by the sun,

Icicle branches melt with ease,

Jack's fingers cut to the knuckles,

Free from the frozen underworld for a few precious hours.



The sun down,

Jack is quick in his work,

Like thieves in the night making mischief.

Ice ice everywhere,

Branches, diamonds, glittering stars,

Jack's frozen forest is formed again.



January (18.1.99)



Grey days

Hazy sun

Diamond flecked branches

White birds on still, glass water

And the moon lurks all day.


In winter the land is transformed

And we rejoice as our breath is taken away.



Lost Love (4.2.99)



The one I love eludes me,

Her features grow distant each day,

Her voice, a song on the wind.



We were once together,

But not as lovers,

Mere friends.

And now I see her never.



I don't know which is worse.



Contradictions (25.11.01)



The prime of my life,

I am.

I am in the prime of my life.

The spice of my life,

The price of my life

Is valueless or worthless?

Spiritual or listless?

Vibrant or jaded?

Happy or sad?

The polar nature of my life.

Nothing balanced,
Nothing right,

Nothing wrong,

Never weak,

But never strong.

1 comment:

  1. These are small treasures, aren't they? Having an opportunity to go back to read what was on your mind a long time ago, an age ago. When I was moving from Italy, I found aobut 3 bags of my writings, no computer then, all hand-written, or typed (with a proper type-writer when I was lucky). I even found a song that I composed at the piano (music only, not words). Some of my writings were... well just really bad, other were interesting, some were funny, and some were 'What the...' I was thinking?? :) A couple were cool though, I might steal them from myself for future reference. Glad you got to keep your early works too, as I said, they are precious.

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