Forfending Every Fable...

Forfending every fable, every fad,
Reposing on right doctrine, rightly read,
Glimpsing Godly glamour which makes men glad,
Marvellous it is that merry on mind’s milk,
Hauled heavenward by heartwork and by head,
Sainted, we see truth, superfine as silk.

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© June 2015

Young Girls

Lines one, three, six and eight of each stanza are trochaic.

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Lively yet demure, young girls intent
   On Saturdays in supermarkets on
Urging parents that whatever’s spent
   Their chosen treat survive the checkout run,
   Have all the fresh plump glow of eight-year-olds,
Depthlike trustful eyes which none beholds
   Without a wish to take their hands and guide
Innocency through the day’s betide.
         How do I know? I had one once,
         Though now she’s gone.

Joy that integrates the self it is

   To care for them, to feed and play with them,
Read them bedtime tales and with a kiss
   Settle them down, droop-eyed, at slumber’s hem;
   Of course there’s wilfulness and small girl screams,
Tearful throes when you disrupt their schemes,
   But soon a purposed hush engulfs the house,
Screen-engaged, your miss is as a mouse.
         How do I know? I had one once,
         Though now she’s gone.

Oh, that parents part, what wickedness!

   For children, essence-merged in a safe world,
Cling to its terrain yet must confess
   A choice of parent which leaves all meaning swirled;
   Perhaps they then reject the one apart,
Distance dimming love’s unwelcome smart,
   For, truth, if love were stop-knot tight in use
Misses might prefer to slip that noose.
         How do I know? I had one once,
         And now she’s gone.

Now I scan the sea, its salt-thirst miles,

   Pining lost years of helpmeet fatherhood;
Canny girls in supermarket aisles
   Across the prom are weighing “would” and “should”
   In psychic tug with parents for their wants.
Reprobate, expunged from those vivants,
   I ache that daughters might like some gruff gull
Disavow a father’s hapless pull.
         How do I know? I had one once,
         And now she’s gone.

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© June 2015

 

Down to Death

Well over sixty and at life’s loose end,
On Facebook and Twitter I sought out those
Who, sunk in the chasm of time’s far wend,
Had been lovers and soul-mates though all ended in snows:
And all must go down to death in their woes,
            Down to death,
            Down to death.

There was T..., insecure though she pulled my heart’s chords,

She was neat and shapely from her hair to her toes,
But a lifetime’s smoking turned her lungs into boards;
When we met her breath creaked like a clatter of crows:
And all must go down to death in their woes,
            Down to death,
            Down to death.

Then there was Y..., the amazon type,

Abrupt and unfeeling like a storm in its throes,
Gone friendless and gaunt but still blunt as a pipe,
None could get near her without heavy blows:
And all must go down to death in their woes,
            Down to death,
            Down to death.

And L... with fraught beauty and an ill-found mind,

Ravaged by decades of highs and lows;
Re-meeting, I was chilled by that face, now lined,
Graved and roughened by a glacier’s floes:
And all must go down to death in their woes,
            Down to death,
            Down to death.

So, T..., Y... and L..., our paths will not meld,

They’re scattered with bones which long ago froze,
For time has gone cold and love’s trees have been felled;
I am old in my tears for each reaps what he sows:
And I must go down to death in my woes,
            Down to death,
            Down to death.

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© May 2015