Today’s Poem – Who was this man?

Corpus Christi
(for Kit Marlowe)

A voice calls from across the cold centuries,
a harsh whisper in my ear.

There is merit in what he says,
enduring years of indoctrination,

speaking out against that which bore him.
The town of empty palaces, of inordinate wealth,

forcing him to re-position,
to consider the advocacy of freedom,

though mere anarchy in the eyes of the state.
But wait, before you all condemn,

just as a spy must provoke and take a stance,
so a playwright may also be a player.

Does he ask, ‘what kind of world could this be?
What pure lives might we lead?’

If only we could accept the sight before us –
the corruptible body of Christ.

If you have the time, a poem for you…

A Picture of You

you cupping daffodils in sacred space,
me entranced by you in your sacred space

now I’m dreaming of spring, of light, of warmth,
a new life together, in sacred space

we returning birds in hope of new life,
preparing for bliss in still, sacred space

what peace there may be, let’s find together;
a lotus where birds wash, their sacred space

a garden where someone talks to the birds,
gently asking, we share his sacred space

A New Poem, ‘Nymph’

Nymph

You come to me, your face in water
mouthing words, obscure in the water

speaking from beyond, unsuspected
I peer across this sheen of water

I ask a question, you shake your head
I see nymph’s tears, even through water

my world and yours, we can almost touch
this crystal veil disguised as water

I hear you, as if you say ‘free me!’
then you’re gone, through my hands, like water

Please read ‘The Pier’ – A new poem about the times we live in

The Pier

He wished the promontory
would go on forever.
In his mind the wooden boards

stretched out into the ocean
to meet some vague vanishing point.
And that’s where he was,

the absolute part of him.
Disembodied.
Looking back on all that was,

what he’d become,
the pier a mere crustacean,
grey-white and beached,

the town and its cliffs
his Turneresque attempt
which convinced no one.

So what was it, from that viewpoint?
Nothing without distance and light.
Reaching the place

where the boards ran out,
he held onto the rusty rail,
seagulls all around

like wayward thoughts,
until she finally caught up
and gently took his arm.

Beginnings of Millennium Wood, Pinchbeck

I have been a member of the Woodland Trust for many years and so was very pleased that they planted a wood within half a mile of my house.

This mixed media painting was completed using sketches I made in July 2001. They had been lying about for ages until I came across them this year. Needless to say, due to the maturity of the wood, this view does not exist anymore!

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