Times Was

Sorry about this folks but I have hit a block - cannot think how to get Jenny out of the cellar or quite which direction the story will take. Be patient, I will come back to it.

So for today some old poetry written in 1976 just after leaving home - it has been called adequate, adolescent and derivative but I am still proud of it and would like to share. Bouquets not brickbats please...

Time was
I would write poetry
In tea shops by lakes
And high in the mountains.

Great thoughts would come      
Uncalled for,
A sense of beauty emerging
In every line I wrote
And now,
Now,
I sit in Wimpys
In little towns
In mediocrity
And write of despair.
Dead, dull despair.
No great emotion here
Just an ache for things
Long gone.

Time was........

BHARAT
I have no tears for you
Half forgotten country
Of mine.
I cried them all last year
For you
Mother India

I have no water left

To mourn our parting    
I used it all last year
When our roads
Divided

But... I moan
Mother India
Inside I ache and groan
Inside my heart yearns
For you.

Yet... I have
No tears left
Mother India
I cried them all
Last year.




Insomnia Blues

Alone at night
in bed
without a cigarette

No sounds in this
quiet country place

No body warmth
to turn to
for comfort
to help ease the pain            
of loneliness
at night.

Not even a quiet drag
of a fag,
or a face to kiss
goodnight.


A Prayer

Home again,
Dear Lord if I could only be
Home again.
To see those immense blue skies
again
hear the fever bird's lunatic cry
again.
And to see the people,
dear Lord, the people
white clothed, darkhued,
hustling, shouting, exciting
people.
And the earth
baked like clay
and grass, green-brown burnt      
in May.
And cows and goats
and kites in the sky
the immense blue sky ...
Home again.



To  quote a certain WB Yeats "Tread softly becuase you tread on my dreams"
xxx