WE

these days there is a shadow on my heart
a stone so weighty breathing is suppressed
such sadness from this time we’ve been apart
and memories of times when we were blessed

no sleep while eyes keep searching in the night
your warmth no longer felt here at my side
without your arms to hold me nothing’s right
no comfort to be had for tears I’ve cried

why did you have to be the one to go
how could I be prepared for such a day
you’ve taken secrets only you could know
I’m left with all these words I didn’t say

dear love, I do so long for it to be
no longer ‘I’ but once more back to ‘we’

=============================

Letting Go

This cold, cold earth
last resting place
I heard your voice
you kissed my face
then all was gone
without a trace
in cold, cold earth

This hard, hard ground
no need for sight
for those who lie
in this dark night
not to see again
the sun, the light
in hard, hard ground

Yet comes this sound
there is a sigh
like wind in trees
or the faintest cry
of a flock of birds
in a cloudless sky
yet comes this sound

Away I fly

2016 © Lesly Frances Finn

Poetry – Memo to self

a rhymer’s style is one that’s neat
following form and counting feet
free-versers claim their way is better
no need to follow to the letter
some poems only seem to ramble
endless screeds all in a tangle
esoteric styles depress me
grandiloquence just don’t impress me
so what’s the best thing I can do
(the point of this iambic stew)
– read those I love and worry less
write from the heart, not to impress

2017 © Lesly Frances Finn

In Passing

What became of whats-her-name
the one who hung around last fall?
Or was it spring, I can’t recall?

Seemed quite sad and melancholic.
We thought she might be alcoholic.
Remember her?

She was with us at your brothers ‘do’
And we talked of how our nails grew?
Well, WE talked, she listened.
Or seemed to.

Then she cried, her mascara ran.
Describe her? I don’t think I can
No, never saw her with a man

Yes! That’s it, you’ve got her now
The one who said you were a cow
to laugh at her that time.

Hey, WOW!

Gassed herself? And her cat?
Why ever do a thing like that?

So ….. who’s now living in her flat?

2017 © Lesly Frances Finn

Children And The Playgrounds Shame

The beat at the moment is fast
Those trumpeted jazz tones are a little slow
I want to hear the sax bleed up the tempo
Those drum hands going a little faster
I can’t swing that low to low
No duwop for me
This is the way I hold myself afar
I am something you’ll never be
Take me to the stars
Envelope my dreams a misspent letter
Astral postage another cape
An infant in the plane
Smoothly again
Infants playing a game
Spit in the faces against the grain
Where the rolling hills end
Beyond the claps of thunder
Beyond the bridge trolls grasp
Give me an instrument of death
Somewhere I can start again.

A Postcard from the edge

I sent you a message today

from the inside of my heart

I hope you could read it

cos it came from the edge

Like a postcard

not posted

not printed

nor said

It came from my heart

so simply

it read….

I miss you

I love you

I wish you were here

No-one can replace you

in my thoughts

you are near !!

 

 

 

Nervum Tibulum

Diabolical twitch

in the darkness;

singer in the light.

 

I’ve come to

 

winking at the fly,

its odd caress

and back of a turbulent sea;

 

and whistling

over wings

of a wet gnat.

 

At day

I load my beanbag

with the cat

 

and another three yak

 

of what they

kiss and kill

at their backs.

 

At night

I shake the moon

as I fit fit fit

 

and FALL,

like death over lark.

 

2017

 

‘What Remains Beyond Love’

“What do you know of love?” a mirror scoffed

“Look at you, old and out of touch!”

What indeed, does one know of love

when foolishly measured by so much?

 

 Reflective smiles give nothing away

Just those unseen heartbeats

deafening all but one’s distant lover

too far apart, for far too long

 

Love found riding the plains of Argentina

Blue/white dressed in the colours of her tango

Lost, captured, bound and tortured

within the folds of her velvet lasso

 

“Hola. Te amo, te quiero te amo!”

Haunting whispered words, a time that flew

For only a true heart found can ever say

“Hi. I love you, I want you… I love you too!”

                                                                                     *~Pearldiver~

 

Copyright © 2016 Rob Welsh – Pearldiver with all rights reserved.

‘When the Matata Dams Burst’

Council’s Dam Debris

 

 

 

 

(2005 Matata Debris Flow)

 

How life can turn in a second split

Felled logs, giant rocks riding silted floods

of denial and acts of negligence, the sham

Quarry sluicing is not to blame, they cry

No evidence exists that there was a dam

 

When 3 forty year old debris dams burst

Raining down upon a tiny coastal town

What part of life does one try to save first?

For twelve years on, the pain remains raw

as a Council buries all devastation, of before

 

I pray the flow of tranquillity will return

Bearing no debris of contention

Nor hewn boulders of deceitfulness

To this place, of broken beauty and hearts

To this place, we know as Matata…

                                                                             *` © 2016 Pearldiver~

In a Church

In the sigh of frescoes

immortal eyes unhinge.

 

It’s you, me and the old

moving air that flees

in tasted gust to the walls

and keels in a pirouette.

 

Intervals are rent for the choir

when all dust is met with the roof

as they sing and they sing

 

or when the old tenor waddles in

combing the stair with a whistle

and cough – fends grub with love

that keeps the stone alive for years.

 

Simple – he comes.

 

And here, now, I sway

on wings I’m too small to know.

Unbent, in the blue-smocked violence,

 

I feather my hands.

 

Dec, 2016

No Room

TRUMPETS WILL BLAST, ANNOUNCING CHRISTMAS AT LAST,
NOT THE ANCIENT MASS OF CHRIST,
COVETNESS, BRIBERY, RESOUNDS THE NEW TRUMPET,
REPEATING THEIR EVERLASTING SOUND.
USHERING IN PROMISES OF HOPE, FELICITATIONS,
THE ORIGINAL PROCLAMATION.
NOW WRAPPED IN TINSEL, THE GOODNEWS,
GLITTERS, SHIMMERS, GLOWS, FLICKERS,
DISGUISES THE MESSAGE AS ANGELIC LIGHT.
BELLS RING FROM THE BELFRY TIDINGS OF GOODWILL TO ALL MEN,
NAGGING, TEMPTING, ENTICING, DRILL,
SHEEP WHO FOLLOW GONE ASTRAY WITHOUT FREE MINDS,
SHAME THE MASSES INTO DEBT,
GREED, STATUS, ALL FOR THE SAKE OF BELONGING.
NOW THEY PAY HOMAGE TO THE GOLDEN CALF GODS’
SANTA CLAUS, ADVANCEMENT, MATERIALISM, THEMSELVES,
PERCEPTION BY MODERN SEERS OF AN ENLIGHTENED ERA,
HOPEFUL MOTHER THERESA’S EMERGE,
GENEROISITY, SELFLESS ACTS, BROWNIE POINT LADDERS TO HEAVEN,
THE LATEST FAD OR CHARITABLE ACT?
THE STILL VOICE OF TIME, HUMBLE, ENTREATING INVITATIONAL,
WHISPERS UNSEEN, NO ROOM IN THE INN,
NOTHINGS’ CHANGED, MANKIND’S FALLEN NATURE REMAINS,
NO ROOM,
NO ROOM.

…. Alpha and Omega the beginning and the end,
Where did it begin and where will it end?
The voice that spoke, ‘Let there be light’ from
chaos, void, where the spirit brooded,
rang throughout the universe.
An instrument of the divines’ voice,
Tis music to those with ears to hear.
Cockles and bells on your toes, she shall
have’ Music wherever she goes’
What are the sources for the symphony…?
That waits; maybe a chorus will greet
from creations’ creatures,
A song from the tribe of birds,
The trill of laughter from a child,
Clatter, banging of cups and plates,
Radio blasting with a song,
Sounds of mornings’ orchestra have come.
The weeping as you’re touched in your inner core
whilst you listen to the magic source.
It moves, breathes, soaks, encompasses,
blankets invades, resounds, surrounds,
permeates, births,
Everywhere we go, in all we do, are…
comes music, song, melody, tune, harmony,
Symphonies, orchestras, beat, rhythm,
Our bodies, minds, relationships, creation,
Instruments in the Creators’ hand,
Where long ago music began with choirs
Of angelic hosts who sang,
Good will and peace to all men.