Folly

May 31, 2016 at 9:56 pm (England, Poems, poetry) (, , , , )

Upon Mow Cop, there stands a castle keep.
Close by on high my humble tent is pitched.
Soon, snug in nature’s covers lie me down to rest.

Light stays up late in May’s last restless gasp
and those who latch and lock miss this great blessing.
Close by on high my humble tent is pitched.

In night’s deep lull, there is a frosty chill,
which holds me to the earth and marks my bed,
and those who latch and lock miss this great blessing.

With morning dew I dip and rise anew,
my body fresh with hospitality,
which holds me to the earth and marks my pitch.

And Biddulph stretches morning arms aloft.
The cows stand tall to greet the coming day.
My body fresh with hospitality.

Toil beckons and I pack my tent away
and boil a kettle on my little stove.
The cows stand tall to greet the coming day.
Soon, snug in nature’s covers lie me down to rest.

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Rear view

May 13, 2016 at 9:09 am (philosophy, Poems, poetry) (, , , )

Facing backwards on the train

to see the place I’ve been, again,

to meet the people facing me

whose eyes reflect what I can’t see.

 

The world behind is a surprise

that meets my back before my eyes,

and if I never turn around

I’ll never know what I have found.

 

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