Tomb

 

Tomb.

 

All is silence.......

until  a crescendo of birdsong

fanfares day,

hailing the coming of sun,

the return of the Son.

The silent stones of Palm Sunday

attend the moved rock

of this Easter Sunday

silent in awe.

There are no palm leaves here,

discarded fronds  blown away

by the week of wind, of storm,

and the mischief of history.

Nightfall

Nightfall

 

It is quiet,
the dark of night
brings its hollow solitude.

Like an ebbed shoreline
knowing the tide will return
but for here, for now,
parched of the salty caress
of the tendrilled sea,
I am missing you.

There may be the vestige of your scent
lying beside me in empty
untangled bedclothes,
but Tantalus Covid
hides it within its tarrying fingers.
I sense the scent
with imagination
not nasal appreciation.

I sense you
as I fall into that solitude,
the void,
that sleep dictates.
You may step into that unknown
holding my hand
or leave me marooned
to the unwinding
of slumbers control.

When I awake,
released from dreaming confinement
you will still be distnt,
though close as breathing,
close as rhythm,
as pulsing
as the tide,
as the longing
that separation endows.

This love will carry

This love will carry*

In the quiet darkness,
when all is still but my soul,
I will see you.

And on the shoulders of darkness
I would carry a candle
to your side.
I would not bring my darkness
nor candle my fears;
I would not shadow you
with my anxious soul.

And if my love could carry,
my love would carry you,
I'd be a transport in your care.
But, for now,
the wraith of missing enfolds me
even before you are gone.

I will see you still,
though you be far away
tired, troubled
and fighting battles.

My love carries me there,
wherever 'there' may be
my love will carry me,
would that my love
would carry
you.


14/2/2024

*title of a Dougie MacLean song

Some other blues

I can't bring sunshine,

can't stop the rain.

Can't turn back time -

and I can't ease the pain.

Can't fathom reasons

the world goes round,

why up is up

or down is down.

But, sure as a hand

is warmer in a glove;

if you'll let me,

you'll have my love.

Can't get to grips

with high-tech things,

with changing times -

the trouble it brings.

Why history changes

by the accent used,

details are changed

and facts abused.

But, rest assured,

if there's a God above;

if you'll let me

you'll have my love.

This isn't like

some other blues

where all is bleak

and life confused,

the light gone out

'cos the 'lectrics fused.

I'll plead guilty

if I'm accused -

if you'll let me

you'll have my love.