HAIKU 1

 Rebirth

 

Grim slag on bare hill,

Soft shoots begin to open.

Nature paints out grey

Chronos

Bright her face upon that day and

light the touch of silken hair, like

mist in May, when first we met and

kissed in flowered fields and swore that

we would snare the sun and keep him tame.

See how dark and dry these days drag

out. We sit and sneer at our Love’s

rout with hate that gnaws in guile and

lies. Ah, ash in veins and dust in

eyes – all embers now where once was flame.

The Crag

HIGH ON A TOR ON A COLD HEATHER MOOR
STANDS A LONELY WIND-BITTEN CRAG
AND IT SEEMS TO SPEAK WHEN COLD BLIZZARDS SHRIEK
AND LEAFLESS WOODS MOAN LIKE A HAG.

* * * 

As I stood there alone with my hand against stone

and the tears of the wind on my face,

I wondered if stone recalled ages unknown

when life first blossomed out from its base.

In the swirl of the rain, a voice spoke in my brain,

a voice deep and lonely but strong:

"If I could but forget the long pain and regret,

the foul horror of Life's endless wrong.

"For my thoughts can still find the long path left behind

That leads from the light to the gloom,

from the day of the dawn in cataclysmic morn

when the seed gave forth its bright bloom.

"From the cold sands of space, by the Weak Force's grace,

mixed the dust and detritus of stars.

Grain piled on grain in a chill, soundless rain,

glued by static and enshrouded in tars.

"Stone smashed on stone and world hurled on world,

till the rocks crazed and shattered and flowed;

and blazing I came from a placenta of flame

to a shore swept by rivers that glowed.

"Those dim ages flew by like swift clouds from on high

as the land cooled, and then fell the first rain;

and the soil drank the dew and it yielded anew

the first streams that now fed the first main.

"Yes, how still were those days in the sweet lightning's blaze

as the waves swept the yet steaming shore.

But then came the day (nevermore, now I pray!)

when there was movement where none was before.

"A faint globule of gel that squirmed in the swell

I saw in the waters that hour.

As the aeons flashed by under the comet-strewn sky

More came and divided in power.

"On the cold ocean's floor; near the volcano's red maw; 

In the deep and the heights and the skies

swarmed the things from that seed, that slew in their greed,

for warm flesh and sweet blood was their prize.

"The pollution of pain from the nucleotide chain

spilt over my stone like a tear.

If I could but sleep! If my rock could but weep!

for I heard your faint footfall pass near.

"For you are the bloom from that root sunk in gloom; 

the dark blight which crawled from that pool.

Your lips prate of law but your hands swim in gore

and the axe! Was it not your first tool!

"You smash flesh with steel: wounds never to heal;

your children you feed to the fire.

Though some lisp of God, where your armies have trod

Shards of hope still hang wet on the wire.

"All life feeds on death and blood is your breath 

- but the forces of night are now massed.

Soon the ape and its lust will yield to the dust

- Lo! Time's javelin already is cast!

"Swept like chalk from the board while the cold stars applaud

your day and its darkness are passed.

A cloak of new fire is your funeral pyre

and the world will grow quiet at last."

I ran from that height with my mind wrapped in night,

every step seemed to drown me in mud.

Was that dread judgement true? Or will we rise anew

and forget our beginnings in blood?

Many years have now gone yet my doubts linger on

and they come and they mock me at night.

Does the stain run too deep? is there no faith to keep

with the slaughtered now gone from the light?

It is still not too late! Let love replace hate -

still are there ploughshares to mould.

Let us turn from the sword and cut the strong cord

which ... Ah, but I, and you too,  - we grow old.

* * * 

HIGH ON A TOR IN THE CRATER'S DEEP MAW

STANDS A LONELY, BLAST-SHATTERED CRAG

AND IT SEEMS TO SPEAK  WHEN THE FURNACE-WINDS SHRIEK

AND LIFE'S ASHES WHIRL BLACK FROM THE SLAG.

My Muse Of The Soft Brown Hair

How I wish that I were there

where laughter reigns through dark and light

with my muse of the soft brown hair.

Long are the kisses we would share

in torrid day or star strewn night.

Oh, how I wish that I were there!

Rich are the joys for those who’d dare

to spread their wings in love’s swift flight

with my muse of the soft brown hair.

Her smile can make the storm seem fair;

Her lips bring joy that’s lightening bright.

Oh, how I wish that I were there!

In life’s grey paths of aching care

my thoughts soar skyward, height on height

with my muse of the soft brown hair.

Grey are these days with dark despair

and pains that grow like a creeping blight.

Oh, how I wish that I were there

With my muse of the soft brown hair!

The Lovers' Calendar

I kissed her lips on that frost-rimmed day
when the lake lay still in an ice bound sleep.
Cold were her lips but promising fire
as the snowdrop brings hope of bright roses.

I kissed her lips on that sun-swept day
while young clouds moved slow on paths of blue.
How soft were those lips and warmed by love
as her face met mine in a butterfly touch.

I kissed her lips on that autumn day
as dead leaves swept by in a dance of red.
How sweet those lips in the chastening wind,
stilling false fears in the day’s drear dusk.

I kissed her lips in that storm’s grim heart
while ragged clouds closed the sun’s pale eye.
A swift year has passed into remembrance.

But each stored kiss shall hasten the spring.

Love Renewed

The world has turned about its fire

With the seasons’ cycle forged anew,

Sweeping back in its endless gyre

A hemisphere clothed in wintry hue.

The world has turned: the buds await

The call to bloom in the springtime sun;

Orion stands guard on Evening’s gate:

His trembling hounds now strain to run.

The world has turned: and you and I

Face our rebirth hand in hand

Our love reaching for the sheltering sky,

Our roots deep in the warming land.

In School

A smell of fresh ink

and I instantly think

of warm days in school:

Those dim leaden skies,

that buzz of small flies;

I hear children’s yells in school.

A harsh bell rings out,

an eager loud shout

and dinner ends in school.

“Now turn to page Four.”

- But Euclid I abhor!

But this is life, in school.

A quick glance to my right

- Yes, she’s still there all right.

But she sees me not, in school.

If I had that new bike

perhaps me she’d like:

But I’m just weak weed, in school.

It’s biology now

and our determined vow

is not to snigger in school.

But with “womb”and “sperm”

It’s not like “The Worm”!

(And some girls still blush in school.)

And then the bell rings

and my tired hand sings:

No more writing in school!

And then out we pour;

A big crush at the door

and we swear – which we don’t do in school.

And as on the loud bus we go

we slander teachers we know

and swop our adventures in school:

“We had fun with those cows

I had my hand down her blouse!”

Yes, there’s lots of excitement in school.

But now there’s homework for me

Instead of TV

For I must hand it over in school.

Then it’s out we go;

Follow females we know

and forget all our troubles in school.

But it all slips away

with a new-minted day

and it’s back to the textbooks in school.

Cornflakes and a fuss;

Chase after the bus

and then dodge all those prefects in school.

Yes, it all sweeps back like a wave

as I wander on to my grave.

The tumult, the joy in school.

And as I work amidst grime

I remember the time

when the world was clean – in school