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Tryst Jul 20
Tis her eyes that I remember —
Intense as sun upon the frost,
Intent in spite of all they’d lost,
Invested in their task

They smouldered like an ember —
And there she sat, her table lade
With baubles bright and trinkets made,
Her face a stoic mask

Her fingers moved like grains of sand
Let loose within an hourglass bell,
And nimble as each grain that fell
They harnessed beads with thread

Her needle flickered as each strand
Stretched forwards like an uncoiled spring
To form a pretty Dragon wing
Beneath a Dragon head

And whilst she toiled, I read the card
That lay amongst her trinket faire —
“I am blind” — The words hung there
Heedless to my approach

Unseeing eyes wore no regard
For awe impaled upon my face,
As on she went to stitch and lace
Her pretty Dragon brooch.
Dedicated to Asha Martin, The Blind Beader of Richmond, Tasmania.
Tryst Jul 13
John Keats
Didn’t write any Tweets
Nor ever undertook
To post on Facebook

Percy B. Shelley
Sailed the Don Juan to sea
Where a monstrous storm seen rarely
Robbed Frankenstein’s Mary

His friend, Lord Byron,
Watched the beach with his pyre on
And then, on a whim,
He went for a swim

William Shakespeare
Loved his wife so sincere
That he willed her when dead
His second best bed

Sir Wilfred Owen
Wrote a **** spiffing poem
And he might well have wrote more
Had he outlived the war

Robert Frost
Got hopelessly lost
When for giggles and a laugh
He took the wrong path

Emily Dickinson
Needed hope to cling on,
So for lack of lucky heather
She clutched an old feather

William Blake
Saw the tiger, too late,
And he felt a cold shiver
As it ate his liver
Tryst May 15
I am — You are — He is — She is — We are —
A populace of conjugated verbs,
All congregated like a bunch of herbs
Wrapped up in twine, with never thyme to spare —

And Basil is too busy now to care —
He roots around the meters at the kerbs
For fumbled coins lost by “them from the burbs”,
And on a lucky day he looks to share

With Rosemary a coffee and a cake,
Always a takeaway, they daren’t go in
For though their coins are welcome, not so they,
And so, like king and queen, they leave the din
And hold their court in subways to partake
Of feasting on their banquet, out the rain.
Tryst Apr 30
See, how Ocean wears the wind?
She ripples in a dress
Of sun-kissed sequins deftly pinned
To cajole and caress

See, a gull alight to hove
Unto his convalesces?
Reflecting on the heavens above,
Reflected in her tresses
Tryst Apr 30
This toll of life?  Tis not of years
And youthful cloth outgrown,
Nor failing eyes dulled in arrears
For sleep they might have known —

Tis in the heart the toll is paid
With weight of love ungiven,
And foolish is the heart afraid
To seek on Earth for Heaven.
Tryst Apr 23
How Morrow weaves her evensong
For buds, unwary, sweet and young,
Full-blossomed low on boughs of trees,
Still blissful in their infancies,
Beguiled by wind and rain and sun
To crawl to stand to walk to run!

And Oh! How Morrow ever-long
Shall pluck with purpose from the throng
Aged thorny vines on withered knees,
Wild saplings cursed with Time's disease,
And all betwixt whose yarns have spun
Out from the void whence they begun.

And so, sweet Morrow, shadows long
Flit fairy-like o'er milkmoon seas,
Thy cold enticing webs are strung
On oceans calm and careless leas;
A twilight rests on mountains flung
Unto the heaven that oversees
A midnight roll-call aired with sorrow
For young sweet buds who’ll miss thee, Morrow.
Tryst Apr 16
LADY, born for Heaven's gate,
Thy nation to inspire —
Alas that thou did immolate
Atop thy self-same pyre

LADY, borne from ashen grate,
Thy nation shall aspire
To gift to thee thy heavenly trait
And raise thee ever higher
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