Silver Spun Sand Poems
Selection of Poems
(Edit) "Oppression can only survive through silence." Carmen de Monteflores
“Someday I know he’s coming to call me. He’s going to hold me, so it’s going to be like dying, Porgy... but when he comes, I know I’ll have to go.” Ira Gershwin
(Inspired by a report on yesterday's 'News at Ten') No self-respecting five-star hotel, would be complete without Egyptian cotton sheets...
(edit) “The lights go out and I die. Tomorrow I will be reborn. Tomorrow I will dance again.” (Rudolf Nureyev – March, 1938 - January, 1993)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fo8WU_RRx-A Melt to the tunes of Pat Metheny; pour myself another cup of coffee...
Sleep won’t come and so I write... listen to Neil Young – golden oldies from the past, the nineteen seventies and such.
Scratchwood; yours truly – chilling out, after a ‘hard day at the office’.
“As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, moving in marches upon the heavenly plain, as the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, to the end,they remain"
A scarlet shawl, from shoulders soft, slipped, silent, to the ground...
(Edit 12/03/2012) There’s some might say we had it made... having gone from rags to riches;
So what did you say the problem was? Your washing machine won’t rinse? My ‘washing machine’ stormed out yesterday; took my cash and credit cards with her, no less.
(Edit 31/01/2011) April seems aeons away; Blooms of daffodils a-blaze. Chilly winds make one long for Drowsy dog-days...
Even a simple shopping list he could transform into a sonnet... until one night when fate intervened.
We used to have so much to say. Not enough hours in the day to discuss … whatever.
Just a card would have been nice, but I’ve still got last year’s in the drawer somewhere.
... the cross she always wore – twenty two carat; the one I bought her for her twenty-first.
(Edit 25/03/2011) When I am old, and even greyer than now... finally, ‘thrown off this mortal coil’
‘Beat a path of retreat up them spiral staircases, past the tree of smoke past the angel with four faces begging God for mercy and weepin’ in holy places’ Bob Dylan
An attempt at the I.P. A poem (of sorts) the letters E,R,N,P,Y prohibited. Difficult, or what?
“Children on the street, still playing their games, smiles on their faces have never changed – I hope it’s all the same, I didn’t leave in vain...” (Stephen Gately 17/3/76 - 10/10/09)
‘Good and bad, I define these terms Quite clear, no doubt, somehow Ah but I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.’ Bob Dylan
“I wish I could remember that first day, first moment of your meeting me.” Christina Rossetti
(Edit 24/09/09 with a thanks to Nathan) ...that duck-shaped damp patch on the wall by our bed has come back ...
Catlike, her fingers stalk the keys; Für Elise from memory. Con espressione, indeed ...
If the dead can die again, they did ... (Written with the help of source material from eye-witness accounts)
Believe it or not, a true story. Driving through the countryside we spot a quaint old pub, both of us could eat a horse, so agree to stop for lunch.
The lather’s to die for – bubbles galore! Cost an arm and leg but sure as hell I’m worth it; Dolce Vita by Christian Dior.
(Edit 19.04.2010) "All the world's a stage, and one man, in his time, plays many parts..."
So many rooms we've slept in... The one in Pont Saint Pierre with a bath, bidet, but no loo;
No step I couldn’t master when caught up in his arms. No other partner with whom I danced so well.
Curled against you in this god-forsaken ditch. (Battle of St Julien 24 April – 5 May, 1915)
A blushing bride emerges up at 23A... takes the front porch steps, two at a time...
http://greennature.com/article2313.html 'Please, make me beautiful,' she said.
In memory of Cecil Frances Alexander, 1818 – 1895 who wrote such hymns as All Things Bright and Beautiful, Once in Royal David’s City, and There is a Green Hill Far Away....
(edited, 22/09/08 with a thank you to jennifer, sunshine and Mori;-) Like schoolgirls we giggle, mad she calls me.
They paid their last respects – laid tulips on the freshly-dug grave of the vicar’s late wife.
Caught up in a whirlwind of buying duvets and curtains, mugs, plates and bowls, electric kettles and toasters.
Looking for a good time, handsome? Barrel of laughs – that’s me. We could while a way an hour or two – three if you like.
Alexander’s never known you and yet he swears he loves you. Vows to follow in your footsteps
Yesterday was her birthday. She looked pretty in her party dress – the satin one with polka-dots. Red always was her colour.
Just a late attempt at the inspiration point:-) “Can you hear the white wolves crying?” said Maranga to Kalista. “I can only hear the river,” said the young boy to his sister.
Best thing about this dump is the chestnut tree and the garden. House not up to much. Only what you’d expect of Army Barracks.
At the end of a hard day, an easy-chair and a cold beer – a letter from a long-forgotten friend.
Our pilgrimage, this - our last ditch attempt as if, by some miracle, this would make you well again.
I used to ask her where she went most every night. “To see a man about a dog,” was always her reply
The way the wine dribbled down the bottle and you wiped it with your hand – licked your fingers as it drizzled down your chin
“There is a better place,” she says. Tells me it’s my call. Up to me to decide where that will be.
Incidentally, so sorry I’ve wrecked your Christmas. A lot more attractive things you could be doing on Christmas Eve.
He stares, blindly, through the window. “Good morning, Mr. Reeves,” say the children ...
‘Must be in my second childhood,’ the old man mused, as he watched her chase the waves ...
IP. Some things about me ... as seen through the eyes of another.
At the end of the day, we are the things we love ... I guess. (Edit, with thanks to Jennifer)
A walk on the pier in the pouring rain, not her best idea.
What had rekindled this passion – long-since smouldering, to suddenly spring alive?
Taught me ... I wouldn't be remembered for how clean my floor was. (edit)
Scrawled-on stairwells resound to a sweet discordant euphony of climactic ecstasies.
A bed and a table, a lamp and a chair; not much of a room ... except heaven is there.
(edit) ...we didn’t want the night to end... to slip through our fingers like a dream –
Current IP. They snatched the scissors away...Nothing sharp permitted here, not in this place.
(Current I.P.) The biggest bonus of being old, one doesn’t lose sleep over niceties.
Deprived of their TV – instead they chat of galaxies, giant-reds, black holes...
One snowflake, so fragile, but by sticking together, they can bring a country to its knees.
(edited, with thanks to kheldar;-) ...bunches of forget-me-nots festoon the old, oak rafters.
Edit (22/3/2010) Thought I’d experiment. Take a stab at the moon; hoped you wouldn’t mind.
(Edit 1.05.2010) She rocks to sleep as the chair sings its own, sweet elegy to the passing of time.
"Ring the bells that still can ring, Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything, That’s how the light gets in." (Leonard Cohen)
A pleasant reunion; thanks to ‘Friends Reunited’. We chat of this and that; she serves afternoon tea..
(Edit 15/6/2010) ...inspired by China's "Three Gorges Dam Project" http://www.flickr.com/photos/wicks/3488452739/
“On far-off fields, by elm and oak, I see the lights. The Camp-fires of the Past are burning.” Henry Van Dyke ‘Indian Summer’
(Edit 8/12/2010) "I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide." (Edna St Vincent Millay)
(Edit 10/1/2011) Couldn’t eat a thing; my hands atremble – throat, dry as the Sahara.
(edit 28/01/2011) She was a hoarder of poems of diaries, letters and cards from husbands, lovers and friends...
Kids swarm like flies to the sweet shop round the corner. “Two at a time,” or so the notice says.
“You see I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue, anyway...the thing is what I really mean – yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen...” Bernie Taupin
For once, the guns were quiet. He lay on his back, counting the planets and constellations.
(Edit 8/02/2011) Fog comes down, thick and fast, up here, in the churchyard on the moor.
(Edit 18/02/2011) Is it such a crime to be old? I have lost the power of speech, but not my mind.
(edit and repost) Thunder brewed in threatening skies; a violent squall – their boat capsized, and boy and girl were lost from sight...
“Thou knowest all; I sit and wait with blinded eyes and hands that fail..."
Dedicated to the memory of Andrea Parker MA (02.08.1968 - 31.12.2007) ‘Celebrate my life – don’t mourn the life that I had not’
Tottenham born and bred, the terrible events of the past few days have been difficult for me to try to come to terms with.
'To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens.' (Ecclesiastes 3)
Pouring bleach down the toilet, her mind goes back to how she’d got there...
Yesterday – too much to take in...a bad dream... if not for this.