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Aug 2018 · 222
The Gardener
Life began with expectation
Tending to the barren bed
Painful hope and disappointment
Driving each repeat attempt

Joyful prayer and jubilation
Welcomed in a budding shoot
Joined by leafy, sibling heads the
Crowning young boldly unfurled

Instinct nurtured their progression
Soft hands stroked each silken leaf
Revelling in propagation
Wonder forged Taurean strength

Soon each seedling sprouted high and
Outgrew its familial crib
Tendrils stretching boldly out
Testing, straining boundaries

Cupped in trepidatious fingers
Nervously each found its place
Being swaddled and surrounded
Ceded saplings confidence

Basking in the sunlit bedding
Independence spread its roots
Yet still needing reassurance
Cautious in fresh liberty

Branching out, each budding flower
Cultivated character
Crimson fire, cocky cobalt,
Mellow blonde with golden hue

Satisfaction smiles over
Burgeoning maturity
Vigilent, maternal counsel
Stakes up blooming confidence

Predators surround each blossom:
Pestilence apocalypse
Constant, careful conservation
Safeguards childish ignorance

Basking in the garden’s beauty
Watching bees promote rebirth
Contemplating life’s real purpose
She smiles at nature’s knowing plan
This is a poem inspired by and a tribute to my mother.
What works, what doesn't? Does it make sense?
Aug 2018 · 235
Twilight
The sun slinks into golden hue
Melting on the horizon
It trickles through turrets and chimneys
A final reflection on a window
A moment, then
Absorbed and claimed by the silent silhouettes
Gone, an echo lingering; Twilight
Silently creeps down the space remaining
Claiming a quiet victory
Bright lights appear and twinkle
Welcoming Father Night
Aug 2018 · 131
The Journey
The rain hits the windscreen
With force and with might
It endlessly bounces
In line of our sight
Our view is restricted
Our senses assaulted
It lashes unceaseless
Then suddenly stops
Aug 2018 · 252
This Morning
I woke this morning, feeling lazy,

Slowly slipping from my dreams

Of you and me and us together,

Happiness surrounding me;

Enveloping and comforting, a

Duvet hug of epic scale,

Of arms and legs entwined together

Never ending, ever safe

And warm and patient, always loving;

Then you wake and smile at me.
There is a world that no one knows
Where life unnoticed grows and thrives
Where birth and death and all between
Are scrutinised, yet are unseen

Where innocence and purity
In white are welcomed, full of hope
Impinging slowly, edging in
Life’s colour forming character

Where independent yellow gloats
In fierce teen triumph ‘Look at me!”

With fun and laughter orange glows
And reaches high in happiness
Experience and independence
Rich lessons teach and edges darken

Their lives on show, rough judgement falls
And ‘I prefer the red’ is thrown
About and listened to and felt
And colours deepen, darkened hue

In wind and rain and sunshine showers
Red develops, life impinges
Bright happiness or blood-red wisdom
Growing older, growing wiser

Where petals turning in reveal
Quiet pom-pom introversion
While out-turned fingers stretch with glee
Prima donnas, dancing, twirling

Where purple self-awareness turns
Each pink and mauve and lilac from
The bloom of youth towards life’s wane
Yet far enough away, rebelling

Where days grow shorter, sliding past
Yet hands stretch out and cup each face
And noses breathe and fingers touch
And bees buzz past and voices rise
And babies cry and old men laugh
And yet unknown, unseen, life slows

Bright-eyed the purple-rinse brigade
With sparkle-induced energy
Remembering and reminiscing
Their days they fill with endless chatter

Late Autumn falls and nights draw near
White heads do droop and slip, like snow
Fine petals drift into the breeze
An echo whispering til Spring.
Aug 2018 · 342
The Playground
Children’s voices crying out
and laughing loud and clear
Like an orchestra of sound
for everyone to hear

The bass starts first, parental leave
gives go ahead to play
The marching beat as kids go forth
and out into the day

A trumpet hail for company
is raised from door to door
The flute returns, the oboe too
accompanied by more

The fun begins on strings and swings
go back and forth with speed
All cares and woes are flung away
percussion takes the lead

A drumroll raises up the stakes
a dangerous new move
Chromatic scales, gymnastic fails
the cymbal’s sharp reprove

The roundabout reveals the chorus
repeating the refrain
The highs, the lows and all between
All voices sing again

The seesaw conversation starts
bassoons begin up high
The oboes and an English horn
ascend into the sky

A far away note penetrates
the happy symphony
A lone voice trills with increased speed
and calls out ‘Time for Tea’

As kids go home the conductor
Bows and takes his leave
The park is left in quietness
notes floating in the breeze
Aug 2018 · 207
Old Friends
Our past seems like an age ago
A distant and fond memory
An echo of laughter and sadness
That rumbles away down the years

Remember the time that I told you
Of imminent, life changing plans
We discussed the alternative options
And dissected the future at hand

We spoke on the phone for a lifetime
We chatted from dusk until dawn
We solved the world’s problems and issues
We talked about nothing at all

Embracing all my imperfections
You treasured my soul anyway
You cherished ideas and discussion
And valued what I had to say

We’d years of affection and laughter
And burying our sorrows with beers
We’d go walking and talking on days out
And spoke of our innermost fears

But life has a way of reproving
Belief that all time will stand still
Reality comes chasing, unceaseless,
Overtaking our plans and our will

And now we have spouses and babies
And houses and mortgages too
And days just seem to go faster
And time slinks away from our view

Then one day you hear distant echoes
That whisper at you from afar
You listen and **** your ear higher
And slow down, remember, and smile
Minarets stand tall and sleek and
proud, announcing prayers at
intervals at odds with the
hourly bells of the basilica
Red rooves jostle for space
amid bullet-ridden history and
rejuvenated, freshly painted
homes and tourist-inducing
restaurants and market shops selling
trinkets: silk scarves, bronze pots
wooden flutes and ubiquitious
paintings of Stari Most
Crowds fill the lane leading
to the revered bridge, like pilgrims
A heady mix of peaceful
nations, short skirts
passing by headscarves
trading surreptitious glances
snapping photos of the bridge or
themselves and the bridge or
loved ones and the bridge
Watching with a rooftop drink
a bold and daring young man
small and youthful from a distance
encourages support and jumps
into the cold Neretva river
vigorously proving life goes on

— The End —