Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Poetry Indeed !

I have long been tormented by poetry, 
tortured by lines calling me from their depths, 
in early hours before dawn. 
When even my house was asleep. 
To rise and sit at a wooden desk with pen in front of paper 
and write all alliteration that comes to mind.
Fec ! 
It is enough to drive drinkers mad, 
such prattle, poetry indeed.

©MRL Dec 2016

Friday, November 11, 2016

LEONARD COHEN - Forgive me ?



I stand swaying in dead air
crying a bucketful of dry tears
as deep as the Ocean
Hearing music so soft, so silent.
For a man  who reached his end.
Did his soul touch yours ?
Were you there at his concerts
or like me stone deaf busy ?
I stand in silence now
Begging forgiveness with dry tears
for staying away so long.
Hearing only Hallelujah 
recognising a single rhythm
That filled a hundred songs

Leonard Cohen 
please forgive me ?

© MRL Nov 2016

Saturday, October 29, 2016

MISTRESS WIND



Mistress wind kisses
sweet deciduous trees
her lips sap savouring
sucks caresses
every leaf dry
To paint
Samhain colours
Pale yellow
Red Gold - Bronze
and lays a lovers blanket
to dissolve
Upon the ground.


© MRL Oct 2016

CLOSURE

management said The Yard is closing with effect - immediately
I saw in a dark corner a senior foreman weep
heard another knee deep amid wood shavings cry
It went against the grain this……for my father said
“Big men don’t cry”
I shouted at his grave the Sea and said
“They do, they do !”



Watching waves of tears flow once - unknown
Fears of a future wrecked, washed up - beached.
scattered stocks held craft part built
never to float or taste the salt
Idle debris of design and trade
For a century of industry has ceased.
While grown men weep.

© MRL 2016

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

ONE BEING



Between blue and green 
I sleep dream
glide givingly
float freely 
voluntarily
to slide silkily supple
as a breath of air
to She a gilded golden
sunset singing softly
her hymn - my twin.
We one being.

© MRL 2016

Monday, October 3, 2016

BOUNDARIES





A blossom of old faces stare silently on old walls
none drawn by a human hand just nature in relief.
Some on raw ancient weather washed stone,
others rendered on a lime sand mortar mixed.
Women wearing hats not now seen and hairstyles unique
while men bucolic bellicose frown and stare down.


Others too stay hidden unbidden creatures
seemingly fossilised in servitude to ancient gods.
They are infused amid green leaves to shrunken brown
in hedgerows around wild wooded forests lurking
Barely discernible, threatening my eyes to espy 
their existence these the old dead and yet alive!

© MRL October 2016

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

OFF HAND THOUGHTS




See you, I don't want to get accustomed to the seasons, 

nor do I want to be complacent with this living and being alive. 

You see, I have seen the ghost-people who have done that 

they are locked onto this planet, trapped almost for ever

Or at least until some kahuna or druid cuts their bonds.

So I sit here with 73 years of cold toes in July waiting.. 

For my flight to the great non-consciousness. 

Join me and we could form a non club, If you like ?


© MRL July 2016

Monday, June 13, 2016

ORLANDO

I wrote this on hearing about Orlando and today after hearing of the brutal murder of the Jo Cox MP.
Then this applies to all who grieve wherever they live and whoever they are.



Be brave my friend/s
Let your tears fall
Mingle with mine
To gather in a pool
Of lingering emptiness
For we are just people
Of different shades.
Who feel the pain….

© MRL 13-6-2016

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

A BATHIC

There was a labourer of Bath
who got so drunk he propounded
he’d rather sleep on the hearth
For with stairs he was confounded 
All night he’d go up two down two 
till his little legs were tired 
So would he turn fall 
in a heap and go to sleep
By
a dying fire
he did
expire.

©MRL May ’16

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

On Discomfort and Pain

Any artist worth their salt would paint a different scene.

A poet would work his muse to sensibly soothe. 

A composer create a musical charm. 

A songster with vocal harmonics would bring comfort.

“Oh where are these masters of the arts ?”


© MRL April 2016









Wednesday, February 17, 2016

for Thea-Valerie

Come sit with me and let our minds drift
across a surface of polished water glass
Look deep beneath to see what arrives
Perhaps a memory of times past, 
An old yearning sweetly perfumed
As fresh as ever scintillates excites.

I sense your hand on my arm 
Warm and gentle your touch
As we walked a harbour side
It grieved me then knowing
That your dying was soon to be
On a date unknown to us both.

Today as I sit alone and not alone
I hear ripples of laughter,
her voice in deep bluesy songs
That echo from a hidden shore to mine
She is only half a whisper away 
so very very close yet I cannot see…..


© MRL 17-02- 2016

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

SOME CALL HER MOTHER (revised)





Some call her Mother. The Mistress of this land

Her body hidden haunts wild places for man

Whose calloused raw hands worked nippled

Cairns to stand proud on mountains

Hunted, fought bloodily among heathered tresses

Ploughed deeply her fertile plains to feed

Warrior lords, foreign, crippled with greed.

In Her a sea smooth cave, that once sheltered Fintan.

Crabs with dead mens fingers, sought a womb watery grave.

To rebirth rebellion - Freedom and the marrow

Of Her Favour!

She walks still this land breathing out love and inspiration

To those who seek justice for all of her people.

© MRL 1/2/16
last 2 lines added

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Can You Help



for

I read just now 

a message

That said 

“Bridget’s

lost

her phone

and 

is trying

to get home”

Perhaps to

Ireland ?



© MRL 26/01/16

Sunday, January 17, 2016

THE DREAMER



Me, a dreamer content
swims between worlds
in fish like fantasy
a merman acrobatic
an agile inventor.
A roaming seeker of keys
that freely unlock senses
beyond boundaries, See ?


Together or Apart - We
in a conch shell shall be
Flies beneath blue waves
Dancing frogs in a bog, or
Merry toads on a road
perhaps birds stalking cats
In bright darkness alive
loving life and free to be.


We are: a pattern of raindrops
making bright rings in puddles,
Old times smoky wraiths, ghosts.
Lovers from a future time,
a breeze, a tease of warm scent.
An echo, footprints in snow.
We can be the old Oak tree
and stand strong proudly alone.

© MRL 17/01/16

Monday, January 11, 2016

DAVID BOWIE


DAVID BOWIE 
8 January 1947) - 10th Jan 2016
R.I.P.


another 

Talented Star

to
 
shine brightly

in some

distant galaxy.


© MRL 11/01/2011