Remembrance

I grew up in the 50s and 60s and I heard many stories of women who lost their men in the first World War and how they suffered.  My aunt lost her "young man".  She never spoke of it and she never married.  There was no one to marry; a generation had been lost.  But the women who had it hardest were the widows of "other ranks" who were left with children to care for and little or no support.  This poem is for them.

And we the women left
Make lives for ourselves.
Brave women we,
The women left.
Like flotsam on a stony shore,
We shouldn't be here.
Discarded parts!
Our seasoned wood
Has gone beyond its season.
But still we scrub and clean
And make our knuckles raw
With all your dirty laundry.
If not, who'll feed our kids?
Brave women, we
The women left.

Fleet footed to ecstatic wings

The wolf solitary,
Alpha and Omega, 

Strength in the shoulder,
Fur that absorbs,
Journeying
Across vast plains
To meet mountains,
Green with trees,
Then scrub,
To rocky summit.
Breathless
Above the clouds,
Glistening in light,
An endless exchange,
Of colours,
Noon through to dusk,
And on to scented night.
Losing the comfort
Of warm fur
For wings,
Beyond colour,
Beyond description.

Estuary Thoughts

There was the wolf

Sitting beside me,
My fingers warm
In the fur at his neck.
We sat in silence
On the estuary bank.
The teasing smell of seaweed,
And sweet mud, in our nostrils.
With water moving
Gently below us.
And all the pain,
All the fear,
All the loneliness,
Went drifting on the breeze,
As the tide turned.
And the river,
That mighty father/mother
Of the valley,
Carried water
Of the Welsh hills,
Down to a forgiving sea.

Shadow Land

A wolf walked with me once.

Or did I walk with him?
I know he set the pace.
We padded softly
Through a shadow land.
He knew me then,
Watching with gentle eyes.
And when we heard the drum,
We'd dance.
And we would run,
My heart beating fast,
Me, gasping for breath.
Until we came one day
Into a glade of light.
And there he left me.

 

Optimism

The fruit is eaten,

The commitment made.

The seed is planted

In cool earth;

A gentle womb in which

To rest the winter through.

And then, first stirrings;

Cell by cell awakening,

Slowly, but quickening,

Bursting,

Into a world unready,

Tender, fragile,

But full of optimism.

In Earth

Rock

Water

Cleansing

Corroding

Re-forming  

Light
Power

Warmth

Sunshine

Energizing

Leaf

Tree

Strength

Rooted
In earth

Scribbling on trains

How many poets are there writing on commuter trains?
Does every carriage contain someone?
Are they scribbling in a notebook?
Or tapping their phone?
Each one reflecting on their own view reality.
While the world is too busy to look.
But each one wants to share something,
And sometimes someone peers over another's shoulder.
And wonders!
Meanwhile each one adopts the rules
Specific to writing on trains,
Pretending not to want attention.