stuart-williamson - Hello Poetry

I told the swifts they’d got it wrong I watched them glide and dip and play The sky was of the richest hue Without a the slightest hint of grey But slowly as the day wore on The clouds began to blot the light And doubts began to fill my head Could the swifts have got it right? Of course they had, why even ask No confusion in their feathery heads The clues were plain, the signs were clear The rain would come, as soon as said And so it did, with lightening flash With thunderous roar and constant pound With drops the size of apricots To slake the tired and parch-ed ground. We mustn’t doubt our fellow creatures They feel things that we’d never sense Watch for signs and **** an ear And bow to Nature’s sapience. Stuart Williamson August 2016 ©

0

Nov 30, 2017

Nov 30, 2017 at 7:17 AM UTC

stuart-williamson

I Told the Swifts

I told the swifts they’d got it wrong I watched them glide and dip and play The sky was of the richest hue Without a the slightest hint of grey But slowly as the day wore on The clouds began to blot the light And doubts began to fill my head Could the swifts have got it right? Of course they had, why even ask No confusion in their feathery heads The clues were plain, the signs were clear The rain would come, as soon as said And so it did, with lightening flash With thunderous roar and constant pound With drops the size of apricots To slake the tired and parch-ed ground. We mustn’t doubt our fellow creatures They feel things that we’d never sense Watch for signs and **** an ear And bow to Nature’s sapience. Stuart Williamson August 2016 ©

21

I’m still here, said the Bamiyan Buddha Rubble and hatred up to his knees And his precepts are sound, and will go on forever Despite the barbaric atrocities. Stuart Williamson ©

0

Nov 29, 2017

Nov 29, 2017 at 4:16 PM UTC

stuart-williamson

The Bamiyan Buddha

I’m still here, said the Bamiyan Buddha Rubble and hatred up to his knees And his precepts are sound, and will go on forever Despite the barbaric atrocities. Stuart Williamson ©

5

‘The Immensity’ by Stuart Williamson “La Inmensidad” Salvador’s words Vast burgeoning watery place Myriads of small creatures tumbling to the sands Spent waves already fighting back against the tide Cemetery walls crumbled in its wake The bones of long dead fishermen once again felt the air And a *** the work of human hands Striped with red around its rim Cradled within a larger bowl Exposed for us, and all to see Left for a thousand years or more To be held with pleasure once again.

0

Nov 29, 2017

Nov 29, 2017 at 3:33 PM UTC

stuart-williamson

The Immensity

‘The Immensity’ by Stuart Williamson “La Inmensidad” Salvador’s words Vast burgeoning watery place Myriads of small creatures tumbling to the sands Spent waves already fighting back against the tide Cemetery walls crumbled in its wake The bones of long dead fishermen once again felt the air And a *** the work of human hands Striped with red around its rim Cradled within a larger bowl Exposed for us, and all to see Left for a thousand years or more To be held with pleasure once again.

14

THE SUIT This costume of an older me Does not sit well upon my frame Each stage with attending uncertainty Not the suit in which I came Remembering childhood’s exotic clothes Allowing oneself the luxury Recalling pleasures not the woes To bask in simple reverie Favourite secret places gone Quarry, pond and places dark Different children jump my stones Their arrows find a different mark Paths and houses, muted, still I stand alone amongst my friends Black against white, a bird stares back At this version of my earlier self The memory still astounds me now For no reason that is plain to tell A sense of wonder, deep content My earlier, suit it fit me well Stuart Williamson Estero, Feb. 2015 ©

0

Nov 29, 2017

Nov 29, 2017 at 3:14 PM UTC

stuart-williamson

The Suit

THE SUIT This costume of an older me Does not sit well upon my frame Each stage with attending uncertainty Not the suit in which I came Remembering childhood’s exotic clothes Allowing oneself the luxury Recalling pleasures not the woes To bask in simple reverie Favourite secret places gone Quarry, pond and places dark Different children jump my stones Their arrows find a different mark Paths and houses, muted, still I stand alone amongst my friends Black against white, a bird stares back At this version of my earlier self The memory still astounds me now For no reason that is plain to tell A sense of wonder, deep content My earlier, suit it fit me well Stuart Williamson Estero, Feb. 2015 ©

22

The Palette Poised The palette poised As if…….. some archaic ballroom Oiled and smoothed by years of feint and flourish Marks of previous jigs and gambols Colors placed in magic sequence Waiting for to dance and mingle Stuart Williamson 2015 ©

0

Nov 29, 2017

Nov 29, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC

stuart-williamson

The Palette Poised

The Palette Poised The palette poised As if…….. some archaic ballroom Oiled and smoothed by years of feint and flourish Marks of previous jigs and gambols Colors placed in magic sequence Waiting for to dance and mingle Stuart Williamson 2015 ©

8