As the mariner sinks softly beneath the white tipped foam

He dreams of shadowed woodlands 

In his County Antrim home

Where gulls rise in the sunlight echoing and free 

And bluebell glens descend in silver ribbons to the sea

And he smiles a gentle smile that lights up the space around

And recalls the love that once was lost but now is surely found

For the one who stayed beside ...

Read and leave comments (2)

A bronze, winged man holding an olive branch

emerges from his fountain and war-torn stance

Deco fence reflects St. Johns River ripples

Cotton tops reveal taut nipples

Weary jogger sucks the air

Bluejay announces his high-n-mighty affair

Golden Pup sniffs the grass for savory gems 

His human on her phone fights for amends 

River sparkles do a dance m...

Read and leave comments (2)

Each passing day,
Let me look up and think of you.
And every way,
Let me show that I remember you.
With every star,
Let me think how bright a light you were.
With every smile,
Let me think how much you would have laughed.

Each celebration,
Let me think how proud you would have been.
Each setting sun,
Let me think you’ll watch me as I sleep.
When I miss you,
Let me be glad of the mem...

Read and leave comments (5)

You held our hands too tightly when we crossed the road.
You gave us money for ice-creams if we bought you one.

You took us out for tea and cakes when we were young.
You made fried bread or trifle for when we got home.

We talked of life and god and of our deepest fears.
You told us all the memories of your earlier years.

You didn't like the loud noise that we children made.
We had to ...

Read and leave comments (9)

Pretty much the only poem I have that is appropriate for Holocaust Memorial Day.

(Artwork: "Rabbi Loew and the Golem", from "The Prague Golem: Jewish Stories from the Ghetto", ed. Harald Salfellner, Vitalis, 2016. The artist is uncredited)

Golem

(Prague, 1939)

For centuries I’ve lain here undisturbed,
this synagogue’s hushed attic my bedchamber,
the life-spark in me stilled...

Read and leave comments (1)

Much more than half my life ago

Some chance led us to this place;

Now, my heart is caught and held

By the peace of its earth and space.

Some while past, when first she left me

I could not make my soul adjust

But cached it safe within the plot

Beside her memory and her mortal dust.

And as the family aged and spread

My lonely tenancy grew content

Past spectres...

Read and leave comments (2)

                                    After Ezra Pound and Giacomo Leopardi

And so you were

everything to me, that is now less than dust –

                        lost, captive of the soil

That surrounds and nourishes my soul.

And so now I –

still stranded, umbral shade of past desire – 

                        left, am guardian of sad recall

watching branch and blo...

Read and leave comments (1)

The following was written by
my niece Cynthia Smothers Carter
and is used with her permission.


Rain...again...
But I have come to the conclusion that
it has always rained on Memorial day
and I have figured out why.

The rain is the tears of all our fallen
Soldiers past, present and future. 
Thank You for Your service and the
ultimate sacrifice You ...

Read and leave comments (1)

Grandchildren Of The Somme

the dead lay on the injured earth
all wearing grey death masks of mud
a tally of what life is worth
just bone and sinew flesh and blood

attrition wrought its deadly cost
the river Somme held back its flood
humanity forever lost
just bone and sinew flesh and blood

sixteen miles wide and just six deep
survivors wondered if they could
block out the dreams t...

Read and leave comments (3)

Twenty years ago, 
he is waiting for a bus,
'Cos twenty years ago 
he is simply one of us.
But just twenty years ago, 
he comes under attack,
Just 'cos twenty years ago, 
this teenager is black.

Twenty years ago, 
he runs for his life,
'Cos twenty years ago, 
racists stick him with a knife.
Twenty years ago, 
this firework is far too fleeting,
And so twenty ...

Read and leave comments (22)

Withered flowers fastened to a wasting bench,
Its plaque and pickled paint are weathered long.
The buckled slats curl flecks on harshest winter's freeze.
Where age defies intent to which it did belong.

As passers-by whom in their daily cues entrenched,
They, wrapped in woolen shields, look blindly on
And notice not the broken petals on the breeze,
Nor sense the echo of a parted...

Read and leave comments (0)

`

Was it the yellow of your bright petals
or the way you danced in the breeze
that I brought you home from fields?
Was it the strength of your upright stalks
or the camaraderie, your solidarity?

There in the sun you sang hope,
songs that filled a mourning heart;
there in the wind you whispered
plaintive farewells on conflicted air-
fill this grieving with consolat...

Read more …