Drew Diligence

Drew Diligence Aug 2010

Tell me when you feel the wind blow,
For I cannot feel it.
I see it bend the flowers stem,
And shake the mighty trees.
However I do not bend, or shake.
I think that I know what the wind is,
...But I am not sure.

…So tell me when you feel the wind blow.

Take my hand, that I might take yours,
For I cannot hold.
I can see the warm embrace,
And the lilting eyes that shine.
However I am not warmed, and mine eyes do not shine.
I think you need to hold, to feel the wind,
...But I’m not sure.

… So tell me when you feel the wind blow.

Speak, that I may speak
And I will tell you things.
I will talk of secret lives,
And how all the world is strange.
I think I need to speak to feel the wind,
...But I’m not sure,

… So tell me when you feel the wind blow.

I can only feel the wind,
When you tell me that it blows,
… And even then,
I do not truly feel it.
I play at life, and its uncanny ways,
It is the best I can do; so for pities sake

… Tell me when you feel the wind blow.

Drew Diligence Jul 2010

Homeward bound.

As the stormy weather passes;
Shadowed waves along the bay.
The wind sweeps through the headland grasses,
And we breathe the violent day.

And violent days abound,
Where the sea and land collide.
And in every fishing town,
Lay the marks of those who’ve died.

They lay as stark white crosses;
Set within, green and grassy field.
And we that breathe tote the losses,
… And keep our thoughts concealed.

For what can man or woman say,
That will calm the hurt within?
For some that braved the sea today;
…. Have yet to come back in.

Ten souls are held in thrall,
By the dark and brooding seas.
And stark are the faces, one and all,
As we make our silent pleas.

Oh! Sailor set your canvas tight,
And make your actions sound.
See that the tiller is rigged alright,
And get ye homeward bound.

The church bell tolls a heavy toll,
And candles light, pane on pane.
Whilst desperate eyes search the rocky knoll,
Through high seas, and cur-sed rain.

Worried hands, wring worried hands,
And they wring out misery.
Wives fidget and spin their golden bands,
And make their silent plea.

Oh! Sailor set your canvas tight,
And make your actions sound.
See that the tiller is rigged alright,
And get ye homeward bound.

The rain sheets in across the bay,
It writhes in violent spree,
And we look anon in grim dismay
At the ferment of the sea.

And terrible it is to see that sight,
That holds fathers, sons, and lovers.
And hold the fear, that the sea just might,
Bear new crosses, ‘midst the others.

And in the silence of the rain,
As it dashes hopes upon the sea.
I walk with other souls in pain,
As we make our silent plea.

Oh, Sailor set your canvas tight,
And make your actions sound.
See that the tiller is rigged alright,
And get ye homeward bound.

The raging storm wreaks its worst,
Shadowed waves along the bay.
Our thoughts become bleak and cursed,
As we breathe the violent day.

And then a voice crisp and clear,
Shouts “Look ye to the lee”!
And there we spy the crew, so dear;
Of the good ship Karalee.

Oh, Sailor set your canvas tight,
And make your actions sound.
See that the tiller is rigged alright,
And get ye…

Homeward bound.

Drew Diligence Jun 2010

Of Mouses.

Mouse’s are a famous breed,
From lines of kings they come.
They have a mousey song, and a mousey creed;
They love mousey cheese, and mousey ***.

Mouse’s love spirits, wine, beer, and ale;
They love to chew on cheesy things.
And when they’re drunk, they will regale,
Spouting stories of mousy kings.

In mousey castle, in mousey town,
Lived a mighty mousey king.
And his mousy eyes, looked up and down,
On every big, and little thing.

But his mighty mousy features,
Were struck by mousy mope.
For all his fellow creatures,
Were bereft of ***, and hope.

“No ***! No ***!” They cried,
To the king as he passed by.
They wept, and sobbed, and sighed;
“Oh my, oh my, oh my”.

In the kingdom of the mouse,
There can be no greater woe,
Than to find no ***, in house;
It lays the mouse’s low.

“No *** can be got”!
Stated the advisor to the king.
“We’ve all got up, and drunk the lot;
'Tis a sad and sorry thing”.

All the mousy heads,
Hung low in grim defeat.
They played with mousy threads,
With mousy hands, and mousy feet.

But the king of mouse’s rose
Standing tall upon his mitts.
Wriggled in his mousy hose,
And strained his mousy wits.

“Who can build new ***”?
Asked the mighty mousey king.
But all the mouse’s were dumb,
On this mighty mousey thing.

Then from out the bleachers;
Stumbled little Georgey mouse.
A smirk bestruck his features,
He was happy; he was ******!

With mousy hands he gript
A bottle tall and fine
And from its neck he sipped;
A liquor; so divine.

“I shound it through zzat wall”,
Announced little Georgey mouse
“Theresh enough for one and all;
Enough to build a housh”.

He sipped the liquor fair,
And shouted, “What a corker”!
He flashed the bottle in the air;
Black label Johnny Walker.

And all the mousey squeaks,
Wrung cheer from misery.
And the cheers went on for weeks;
“Whiskey! Whiskey! Whiskey!

Vent away.

Drew Diligence May 2010

Hope's sweet sorrow.

Take up this rough hewn cup.
I offer it unto thee.
It is filled with all the tears;
That Hope, has shed upon the sea.

Drink of it, and sorrow.
Let your good deeds slip away.
There is no need for pity,
Now your heart has turned to clay.

Then look upon the world,
With your terracotta eyes,
And seek the beauty that only,
You and Death despise.

My hope has flown away,
As yours has done, unknowing.
I’ll leave you now to wonder,
Through the darkness that is growing…

… But I’ll meet you at the cross roads,
When your heart is full to breaking.
Then I’ll take the cup, and take your tears,
And we’ll sleep the sleep not waking.

O’ rage you hapless sea, and cry,
Hope’s tears are not for thee.
Spray your passion unto the stars,
…And cast your mercy… Unto me.

Vent away.

Drew Diligence May 2010

The Sycamore tree.

I

I took a walk with a ghost today;
Through the forest of my mind.
I found him wandering all alone…
Trailing my grief behind.

I could see his hallowed pall of sorrow,
And my heart had stopped its beating,
His visage recalled a painful musing…
…Terrible and fleeting.

“Did you die well dear friend”?
Asks my soul from deep despair.
As all the tears catch my eyes,
To dance their misery there.

His spectral boyish hand,
Stretched out through passaged time,
And guided me to a place
Of distant, aching clime…

II

The hills around have a speckled snow,
And the valley stream runs swift.
The clouds about, hang their sadness low,
And casts my mind adrift.

A young boy who knows no cheer,
Strides happy at my arm.
A life of strife and constant fear,
Are for the moment calmed.

The day blows cold and dim,
But we are warm and light,
He with me, and I with him,
In our walking; take delight.

Oh what a happy sight to see
That freckled smile of old.
And how well I remember… that melancholy he,
Lost that day… in the darkness and the cold.

III

My inner heart smiles warm,
At the memory of that day.
How as friends we walked together;
Two young boys at play.

“Do you remember when we were ten”?
Begs my inner mind.
As I feel his phantom presence,
Steal up from close behind.

...”I remember”

He whispers unto my hidden ear.
And I am sought to weeping,
At the sadness that I hear.

“What can I do, dear friend,
That will bid your spirit well”?
His ghostly form comes close,
And sighs…

“Deliver me from hell”.

IV

The daylight shadows play long,
And our thoughts have turned to hope;
But I sense that fate has crept along,
And we teeter on its harrowed *****.

We part at the usual place,
At the park under the tree.
Our social sense forbids embrace,
And we divide unhappily.

He is unhappy to be returning,
To a home that has no hearth.
There is no love, nor fire burning,
The house is free of hope and mirth.

A timid soul kept timid,
By the biting force of hate,
A burnished light, shed amid,
The coal black storm of fate.

V

“What hell do you dwell in”?
Cries my mind from wretched keep
And the torture of my heart,
Implores my soul to weep.

“The hell of your misery”,

Whispers nothing from the dark.
I live within your heartache,
Under the sycamore at the park.

We parted unknowing at that tree
No idea, what fate had in train.
No kisses, no hugs, no parting words,
Just wind and biting rain.

But I know that you loved me,
And you may know, that as I rest;
Of all the souls in this dark, dark, world,

…”Know that I loved you best”.

VI

A shot rang out amidst the day,
Though it was silent unto me.
And there you died, and there you lay,
Under the parting Sycamore tree.

Did you die well dear friend?
Or was the pain and fear too much?
How I wish I could have held you then,
To soothe and bless and clutch.

I could have eased your dying,
And lent comfort to your soul.
But instead I lie here crying…
Untrusting, and unwhole.

It was not my fate, nor yours,
To greet eternity as friends.
I know no state, and I know no laws,
That gives solace to our ends.

VII

“I have a son now John,
He is nearing ten.
Shall I tell him of you and me,
And how we were back then”?

“Shall I tell him that I loved you,
And what a dear, dear friend you’ve been?
Or shall I keep a silence,
Unknowing , and unseen”?

A whisper comes from nothing,
So soothing in its tone.

“tell him…
That I always had a friend…
Even when I was alone”.

“Tell him that I reside,
Within the confines of your heart.
And never was I happier,
Than when we walked…

By the Sycamore at the park”.

— The End —