The bright in your face
makes all my butterflies
come out,
it's the natural reaction to such dazzle;
so simple, so rising.

Babies of 2016 will touch screen teddy bears
and marvel at the technology their parents got by with
- dismissing our reminiscing of times gone by as wishful thinking
never fully understanding what life was like just twenty years back down the line.

WHITE DOWN

White down
so high 
and yet so lowly, soft,

your flecks of light
where brown turf darkens 
damp,

so innocently growing
'spite the weather;

torn clouds,
against the blue or grey,

beside you green of moss
stone, heather, 
grasses, hay,

Not lauded, 
given honours like the rose
but there the mountain knows
your sweet repose. 

M. A. Waddicor
10th sept 2011.

Translated into Norwegian...

MYRULL
 
Kvite dun
så høgt på strå
og likevel så kravlaus, mjuk.
 
Lysa dine logar
der torva mørknar
fuktig, brun.
 
Du veks uskuldig, rein
trass uvêr,
rivne skyer
mot det blå og grå.
 
Ved sida di er grøne mosen,
stein, lyng,
gras og vier.
 
Ikkje lovprisa
eller gjeve heidersteikn, som rosa bar;
men fjellet kjenner til
din vakre kvilestad.
 
            M. A. Waddicor/ Gjendikting ved Åse Lilleskare Faugstad

COTTON GRASS YOU WAVE

Waving at the sky,
you tufts of downy white,
your presence in the marsh,
or standing on the cracked dry earth,
the bottom of a bog.

So delicate you are,
in such a place,
where winter blizzards blow,
and icy waters, snow, 
cover your bed. 

Yet there you always are, 
a faithful friend to travellers,
a light where grey skies dull,
a flag to show where not to go 
in rain.

As pretty as a poem tossed 
on hardy stems
not pictured in a painting
yet as dainty, beautiful 
and free, 
as any bloom can be. 

M. Ann Waddicor 
10th September 2011.

i.

Heretofore, I impetrated for mine one and unseen dame,
I knewest not where she wouldst cometh from, though I couldst seeith her hair and face.I mewled out to mine God, even whilst with other's, knowing other's weren't mine soulmates, as tis me and them werent made for another;

ii.

I wrote letter's in prayer form, sending the prayer's to heaven. I asked the Lord, to send me mine girl, mine darling, mine lass, the one missing from mine past.

iii.

Tis, the past I kneweth her, in spirit form reality, we were two spiritual amour's, we got separated when I was thrown into the flesh, being born in sin, and fleshly seed.
iv.

Parfay mine faith, and in Jehovah's good time, whilst not feeling home with other's, as mine body broke down to slime. As tis all the tears I cried, and the year's that I hath waited, the lord answered mine wailing, and mine question's and debating.

v.

I sawest the face, I hath dreamed of many ages, I knewest her face, and recognized her taste, her hair midnight black, her eye's white as poetry's pages; I heardest her voice, the same one from afore, it was mine queen, her name Jane-MI-AMOUR'.........

vi.

I was waiting in purgatory, tis then God opened the door, mine angel flew through, I certified her allure. She was mine kindred soul, the other half to mine explores, we were eachother of old, as tis hell went neath the floor. Mine purpose was once fufilled, it came into sight, I was reborn again, the Hello-poetry night. Happiness hadst wrapped me, like a child so tight. Tis God answered, O' mine father answered, he responded with Jane, the lass of mine past life...




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)

How can a piece of plastic,
Mean the world to me?
Hold the depth of memories,
That runs deeper than the sea?

Man made flowers
blossom on the sky
sign of celebration..