The Riddle of Poetry

Painting a picture without a brush

Orienteering vast landscapes without a map

Entering locked and forgotten rooms without a key

Tasting forbidden flavours without food to savour

Reading between the lines without having to define

Yes!  This is poetry to me.

Hearing music without an instrument

Arrhythmic, polyrhythmic, contrapuntal in kind

Sung in silence, carrying emotion

Making melody without notes

Understanding without knowing how

Capturing imagination in a new world of words

Helping to sew a tapestry of ideas in

To the whole, told without detail

Obvious to those who step back

Subtle to those who look closely

Another language

Yes!  This is the riddle of poetry.

Family

It’s a beautiful day

These moments of sweet flavour

 

Squeezing juice from an orange

The youngest finds she can achieve

She finds a place she fits within

A gift she can bring to the meal table

To the family sat together

Around the days discussion

She has contributed greatly

Camaraderie shared with the eldest

 

Happily prattling

He lifts the dirty sawdust

Brings fresh water

And leads one horse in to bed

Brave in the moment

Delighted to work

 

Daddy’s game of “Find me a home”

Brings everyone together

To tidy

In agreement to teamwork

Laughter bonds humour to mundane

Keeps the wheels turning

 

The mistakes we make

Safe in love

Hearing one say “Ear wax”

Not “Clear wax”

Holding a big tub of wax for wood

Vibrates with hilarity

 

These moments of sweet flavour

Their beauty I savour

Out of me Flows

You had a greater way

And out of me flows this praise to you

You took the rock

From which I was cut

And out of me flows this praise to you

And struck that eternal rock

And out of me flows this praise to you

That stumbling block

Struck

And out of me flows this praise to you

Where

Out flows this living water

And out of me flows this praise to you

It quenches my thirst

And fills me up

And out of me flows this praise to you

It hasn’t stopped

Out flows your gracious river

And out of me flows this praise to you

Crystal clear

From your throne

And out of me flows this praise to you

You are the source

And out of me flows this praise to you

For your greater way

Was Blind But…

That he should look at me

Even look in me

All knowing

Those kind eyes

Speak deep

“I don’t despise,

You! I don’t despise”

This spoken from the place

Where he is broken

Where he hangs

Not as a picture on a wall

But in reality

So that I have to look up

I look up

I look past me

And see

I really see

The Face of History

Would the face of history

Be prettier if

We confused our

Crenellations with our crinolines

Our federations with festivities

Our fiends with our friends

Our condemns with commends?

Would it be wise

To feminise our history

And call it ‘herstory

(Or should that be ‘heresy‘)?

It might look more attractive

And punch a softer blow

But if I know anything

It’ll be too much

Mystery to call ‘History’

With too many words to say!

Ratty and Moley

Ratty and Moley

Moley and Ratty

Ratty goes roly-poly down the bank

Scattered brambles scarify

“Scatty Ratty”

Mumbles Moley

Moley tumbles

Splosh!

Gosh!

Moley didn’t want a wash

Hotch potch

Big botch

Rabbits watch

“Babble”, bubbles Moley

Ratty – hat off

Splat!

Splash!

Catch Moley

Moley bubble

Big trouble

Fumble, bumble

Bundle Moley on the bank

Rabbits babble

Badly handle Moley

 

Ratty scatty

Moley scathed

Butterfly Summer

(Written about the boys in the summer of 2009)

Simple beginnings

Fly by not to be missed

With warmth and a net

They caught

Out for hours

Daylight lengthened

Darkness called them camping in

They saw the cycle

Cocooned they read

Dreamt on caterpillows

Longer legged they learnt

The eggs that hatched

The caterpillar crawl

Those caught in flight

Transformed

Their knowledge of every kind

From little to big

Their path a nature trail

Their imaginings

A butterfly farm busy

Full of lovely liveliness

So flew that butteryfly summer