DOWN AND DOWN

No surprise that emotions run deep
Down, down, to the cold ocean floor
But may not lie buried forever more
As they may rise to the surface again
The white foam, riding the dark swell
And eventually returning on the tide
Haunting the coast with the memory
Rarely to be dismissed and forgotten
Yet back on land it seeks depth again
Down and down, beneath the sands
To rest peacefully, at least for a while
Until it is awakened with joy or pain
Passion and fear the heart knows well

JOHN BRADBURNE

Beatification is a strange concept for many
In Catholic religion, otherwise not in any
For good work, stage two toward sainthood
His value to mankind being well understood
With his work in Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe
As a missionary and writing poems each day

John Bradburne, both missionary and poet
A revered name, but still few will know it
Whose poetic items received many glances
As a member of the Order of Saint Francis
Almost six thousand discrete poetic verses
Into a world of poetic writing he immerses

Regrettably for me, a belated inspiration
To compete with it needs concentration
If that large body of work total I exceed
I will have achieved little more I concede
But currently that target is clearly in sight
As I generate poetry both day and night

SERIOUS

Being serious is nothing to feel ashamed about
With this common appetite for superficial stuff
Sometimes it gets to being more than enough
And with smoothness, preferring some rough
Excited, yet not quite ready to jump and shout

Emoticons are merely the thin layer of living
When deeper feelings cannot find their place
Fluttering around so lost, in a crowded space
And even to be celebrating a fall from grace
Reality’s current flows without ever forgiving

Mere smiles may not open the heavy doors
But truths are like the rare gold skeleton key
Yet few can ever make it to deep within me
Rising and falling just like the swell of the sea
Or even blowing freely in the wind as spores

But at times, some respite may be needed
From all the gritty shavings of metallic facts
And the danger from subconscience attacks
Challenging deserved relaxation to the max
When the heart’s message should be heeded

WOVEN THREADS

All of life’s woven threads
Sometimes so pulled tight
Offering a restricted view
Not if loosened, it is true
Rare to ever see the light
Separate hearts and heads

There is a certain elasticity
As when spun wool is used
Comfort becomes the word
Natural fibres are preferred
But synthetics often refused
By causing static electricity

But there is also a metaphor
Complexity in knitting style
An echo of contrasts in life
Such challenges may be rife
Trying to go that extra mile
With good design at its core

The garment at the end of it
A success one can announce
Yet the size can be adjustable
But in a fire, it’s combustible
As in life, the quality counts
But most important is the fit

I AM THANKFUL FOR

I am thankful for just being me
Up until now, sufficiently smart
Yet still sharing a beating heart
And a clear perspective to see

A life both curved and angular
But such stuff may sound trite
Not so wild to need a wrangler
And a bark softer than my bite

But now, who do I really thank
Parents, or life lived to the full
School perhaps, but to be frank
After many years I felt the pull

Some parts of life may be hard
Face down risks and temptation
By learning to be on your guard
Finding good is not exhumation

Over many years, without intent
I may have acquired an attitude
Looking back at time well spent
And still able to show gratitude

EMBRACING THE DARK

Enough of this light, it hurts my eyes
Too bright to allow anything to hide
There’s music as gears start to grind
Just too honest, at least in my mind
And it’s keeping back secrets to find
I love the subtlety when one has lied
And the silence that any threat buys

A whiff of honesty is tainting the air
Knowing that it is not welcome here
Darkness has a scent one can follow
All the way to some haunted hollow
To pools of mud in which to wallow
Mist and murk are preferred to clear
Each to their own I say, it’s only fair

I respect that the dark has its appeal
A sigh of relief as day turns to night
Even the moon hides behind a cloud
No spotlight on truth can be allowed
As a bright star must wear its shroud
Words extolling sunshine sound trite
It may not be logical, it’s how I feel

LOW CLOUD

Smoky grey cotton wool clouds hang down
As if teasing and tugging at the skies above
With mere hints of pale blue in the distance
Perhaps the sun may have some persistence
There is also a suggestion of some resistance
As a chill of the autumn morning is enough
And the day demands a return of its crown

The day appears to be like some silent duel
Yet the grim clouds hang on as if in despair
As the breezes blow it looks like they cower
A suggested prospect of a reluctant shower
The obscured sun attempting not to glower
But then it senses a subtle change in the air
As bright sunshine will be its precious jewel