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Day’s End at Rhosneigr

The old land drew up its duvet;
Cloud cliffs brushed in light rose but seeping color,
Draining to quiet grey. A face
Set by Earth’s mason in impassive upward gaze
To become an eternal watcher of skies.

Gulls cried. Sea swirled sand.
Sounds merged to manage a mutinous mind;
A merciful panacea, anesthesia
To help draw down the blind on life’s debts.
This salve of beauty is but a *****.

Peddling pretense for indulgence,
She gains addled adherents who are mocked by reason.
What is done is not undone by this.
Truth that hides beyond the dune’s shadows,
Emerges with the encroaching nemesis of night..
Yes, he is here

I could not see him;
Light so intense, one looks away,
hand over eyes.

Then, the silence of a cave;
***** faces, calloused hands.
In the shadows a baby cries.

Normal people, working people,
Fearful and unsure of me_
Could it be truly this?

There’s nothing unusual here,
Only poor, ordinary ones.
Could he choose to be one of these?

Love cannot be reduced,
But it can be shared among friends;
He is first among equals.

He is us.
NIGEL Aug 2021
What’s it like?
I want to leave him, I do.
I think about a peaceful home,
A quiet place of the ordinary.
I want to know what it is to be able to,
I want to know who I am.

What is it like to be you?
What is it like not to pretend?
Do I deserve what you have?
What is it like to live without fear?
Is it easy to be free?

Please go, he will be back soon.
He cannot see I have a friend.
I will ring you tomorrow, I promise.
I have to get ready for him,
NIGEL Dec 2020
Fire to Fire

With fire you came,
With fire you went;
Imparting, restarting and keen to ferment
The destructive divisions that bruise human hearts
So your children could play out their predestined parts.

With dawn you gave,
With dawn you took;
Forgiving, admitting, dictating your book.
Words that enslave but purport to set free
Condemn you and me to fail such as thee.

With evening you harvest,
With evening you leave
To the Grave slaves of instinct who all believed
That the Ultimate Love would erase their sad guilt
Because of the blood that from one man was spilt.
when you draw near to Him, you lose your slavery to instinct. The converse also applies...
NIGEL Dec 2020
Once against now

Today I went back; walked along paths divorced from now
By forty four years and so scored my tears into this land;
Little boy with simple joy standing here in awe and bright belief-
Sacred memories softly torn asunder by licentious change.

Conker trees ripped and trampled to spectres by houses
Still thrive within the quiet musings of an ageing mind.
To be eight and to await this world’s unfolding
Was to sit on the lip of tomorrow in wonder.

Now his wrinkled wraith tries to be him again.
But the omnipotence of time forces the chime of another hour.
Yet I can smell the seeds my father helped to plant;
How I wish he was here, sure and strong again.
NIGEL Dec 2020
The Ballad Of Foxham Bill

I  knew a man down Wiltshire way,
We called him Foxham Bill.
He’d sit astride his tractor
And swagger up Spirthill.

Up top he’d stop and look around,
A broad smile on his face,
Below the farm he knew so well
His life bound to that place.

Before he set to work each day
He’d ponder on his fold;
With pride he’d think about his wife,
His three girls good as gold.

On his descent he’d fill the lanes,
Surveying his estate.
We’d strain our necks and back our cars,
Give way to Bill’s old crate.

It stayed that way for years I guess,
His routine would hardly falter,
But then daughter June a sailor met
Who brought her to the altar.

Next Mary flew around the world,
Back-packing I’d heard say,
Got fixed up with an Aussie lass
When cruising down Sydney way.

Now down to one, his pride and joy
(She’d never tasted town),
Bill had a boy in mind for her
With him she’d settle down.

But Julie, bless her, took the veil
And married her school mate.
They took a plane one Saturday
And now live in Kuwait.

Wife Betty would not leave the roost,
Of that he could be certain,
With thirty years under the yoke
She’d make their final curtain.

But ringing in the church one day
Elizabeth met Sam-
Within three weeks of knowing him
She’d left for Chippenham.

Now every day he climbed that hill
His swagger was no more,
His smile had gone, he wore a frown,
His tractor lost it’s roar.

As bad luck went, his was the worst,
Alone now on his farm,
He worked away the lonely days
And tried not to self-harm.

One day a Jaguar pulled up,
A stranger knocked his door.
He said his farm and land was sold-
His tenancy no more.

So Foxham Bill, a farmer spent,
Took all his compensation
And bought a house in Bremhill Wick,
Investment ‘gainst inflation.

His Massey Ferguson he kept
A’rusting on his drive,
And every day took all he had
To try and stay alive.

The NHS it did it’s best,
They would not taste defeat,
With CBT and counselling
They’d have Bill on his feet.

But then one morn I took my rod
And set out for the river,
It wasn’t a chill that caught my breath
Or a  wind that made me shiver.

For in the midst of Avon’s flow,
It’s front wheels spinning free,
Was that tired old red tractor
And Bill hanging from a tree.

So dear reader, I’d say to you
(Be you rich or poor)
The only constant thing is change
Of that you can be sure.

© (no references, veiled or otherwise, to any person living or dead )
A very British poem, probably not good to plan things too much, lest those who watch may surprise you with changes!  :- )
NIGEL Dec 2020

He stirred in the shadows, crept into a moonlit doorway:
His good name undressed by desire,
His waist inspired by bottles and poles,
His peace throttled by need,
His seed primed to feed a warm womb.

He awaited a waif, walking wistfully into wild night:
Imagined struggles stroking his distention,
bleeding out glistening drops upon a coal black
Slab, dribbling man dew over
Fingers that linger. Enflamed flesh clasped and firm.

Slow rain wormed in crevices,
Need-engorged tissue stretching fly stiches.
He became what they hate and fear.
Know the enemy...
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