My step dad, Robin, passed away a short time ago at the ripe old age of 94.  An incredible man, he lived an incredible life, including working at Bletchley Park codebreaking during the war, putting out fires at ST Paul's Cathedral, living in Australia, India, Ireland and Scotland and writing numerous books in his role as a well respected minister and scholar.  He met my mum again after 50 years, p...

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Minds mould cannot always bend to the will - Look!

A blur of surreal reality:

it’s vivid, a memory, a means 

but travel through years 

and maybe it’s a dream,

or the worst fear:

(for the youth with infantile stretch marks to hear)

Forgotten.

For the youths with flat ironed flesh and barely dogmarked ears,

what we all fear

 is to forget.

Tell the boy with the newly ...

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The sun has finally set.
There's just one dim light on the horizon.
A burning light of orange, red and purple colors, All of them dancing on the music that the first stars on the sky appear to play.

I look beyond that light and I see you.
Just like the sun you seem to be further and further away...until you disappear.
There is only one thing that remains and that is the memory of you.

Fu...

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As I leave my home behind

To walk the far farm fields

The spirit of the land enfolds me

Its silence becomes my mantle

While I alone hear

Those wafted word

As the wind caresses the treetops

Whispering englynion

To lure me on

Through woodland and moor

Beyond fences, ever deeper into a land

Clothed in swirls of radiant mist

Rising from plashy pools and tarns

Amo...

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I step out

Into that mystic choir

That holds my heart

Where time, standing still,

Moves with the seasons

Quietly changing my world

With its elemental tune

While my song is barely heard:

A contrapuntal whisper

Struggling for harmony

For my land is my chancel

Hymns hum soft on its breezes

And prayer rises in its stillness

In this quiet place of remembrance

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The Voyager's Song

I see the shoreline,

black and unremarked

sleeping in secret, supine,

an open door, strong

as a broad Yorkshire

voice,

weak as rags of sea mist.

Soon I shall fetch upon its sands,

where cold silence reigns

uninvited like the early dawn.

Beside me shall burn,

in isolation and awe,

the last bright flower

of an ancient memory...

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