Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Fay Slimm Nov 2014
Now tilts light into November.
Sags Ol' Sol low in shortened day.
Now is the season of pallored earth.
Time when cracked-open kernels decay.

Now with no violence ground sleeps.
Beds the worm down in blackened grass.
Now, burnt-out all heat in harvested fields
Time eases flight while growth turns to ashes.

Now slows to drowse wise November.
Mutes to silence past labours of birthing.
Now into seared dreams of tired meadows
Time breathes but whispers of far-off Spring.

Now seems the time to leave pre-winter
quietly savouring November's short peace.
Fay Slimm Oct 2014
The wind that day
made hairy spray of the horses tails
and drove them along.

By night we were hungry.

On reaching the Inn
was offered a bed of swan's down to
pillow my wearisome day.

And slept like a baby.

While my brothers
went wenching I stayed close by the
Hostelry's turreted home.

Used to being alone.

Next morning I woke
to breakfast off salmon served fresh
in a bowl of old pewter.

Boatmen kept me amused.

From the casement
they looked like cushioned swans all
ready and pilgrim-waiting.

******* to their labour.

Ladies and maids ferried
to market left men squatting on boat
bottoms until their return .

All day I went wordless.

Night had fallen when
I heard noisy returns and asked for
the latest Armada news.

But it was refused.

I was so thankful
my lively un-born was not yet ready
to greet times of war.

I fastened my door.

Elizabeth's glory was
not yet to its end for she as our Queen
still ruled the year 1558.

I prayed for long reign.

Fatherless but not
unprotected my baby would savour
her grace.

I knew I was favoured.

The mother-of-storms
had passed when we set on our way
again to the Queen's Court.

Ladies in Waiting never falter.
Fay Slimm Oct 2014
Summers of larks bred sun-torn
wilderness flowers all round my colourful home
and scented dialect of childhood
still utters recollections of well-trodden roaming.

In that haven of steep meadows
sheaves leaned roasting among searing hot fields
as hosts of moss roses fed nectar
to butterflies which still ghost my wistful dreams.

Autumn-red juiced my girlhood
when it etched its vermillion into each adventure
yet where could young fervour
find an entrance again to freedom's real treasure ?
Fay Slimm Oct 2014
Between ten and eleven-thirty p.m. this Cornish
village, for the most part gets itself quietly ready
to find comfort in bed.
No exception tonight, beneath cold arc of moon
time takes command as cats are put out, doors
latched and no dog barks.
Mist is rising under fading depths of navy-blue
sky as neighbours pull blinds and hiding behind
upstairs curtains undress.
Clothes are being thrown about, noses get blown,
teeth cleaned, backs scratched and toilets flushed
before baring days' secrets.
Outbursts of *** meet with collapse as confession
of headache becomes forgotten in gasps of gossip
that start giggling sessions.
Suppers crumbing clean sheets vye with a shared
cigarette between couples who, tho' sleep-heavy,
drowsily mumble goodnight.
Peace tumbles around snuffles and snores before
stirring ceases as this small backwater stumbles
toward a new morning.
Men, women and offspring down toys with tools    
as dreams take over while strength refuels weary
bones for more readiness.
For a few hours their world of normality flies to
another dimension then with sunrise legs stretch
and yawning faces distort.
Because betwixt six and seven thirty a.m. this little
community will rise and give inner-thanks before
morning battles start again.
Nobody knows what tears are shed behind blinds
that nightly challenge good folks' efforts in trying          
to make the most of their life.
Fay Slimm Aug 2014
I am me,
the product of timeless eternity.
You are you
for whom wisdom created earth's beauty.
We are
citizens of great universality.
Let us
make it a place in which Love is the rule.

There are those
who would of a whim destroy nations
Bring to quick
end proven power of regeneration.
You friend
are he who can change course of history.
I am me who
though weak can add the weight needed.

We individually can make difference
believable.
Together humanity can choose lasting
peace.
Fay Slimm Aug 2014
Summer strides the evening walkway.
Lights hide seaside's dark delight.
Reconnoitering lovers survey
Secret places out of sight.

Sandy pleasures want no daylight.
Heady times those harbour nights.
Fay Slimm Aug 2014
From liquid glass to boiling foam
moody sea can gentle be
or scream out her commands.
With restless need for exclusivity
she drowns attempts to flee her reprimands.

Savage mistress she.

As Neptune's wife she skuds the coast    
with smiles that tease
the most unwary to beguile.                    
Her fickle heart loves age-old tricks  
well-performed and slick in saline fury-style.    

Savage actress she.

Watch how in fever she unchains
hellish wave-charge
with such terrifying shock.
On one whim tempestuous sea evokes
yet when transforms to calm she is hypnotic.

Savage dancer she.

Sea-fever has a strangle-hold
on men who know
addiction more than gold is this.
A life-long love of sea remains
like mermaid's kiss unyielding yet alluring still.

Savage sweetheart she.

Go in your ship you coastal child
but beware her
siren's call will make you listen.
Should you wish to quit her iron
will can cleave and salty-hold will you imprison.          

Savage jailor she.
Next page