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The Relentless
Wave
The wave
gathers slowly Far out to sea. Rises, curls, hangs Suspended,
lunges, Crashes in a spume of Spray and retreats In shuddering
undertow To be renewed Somewhere in the Vastness of the deep From
whence it came. Thus does passion Ride the mind Torment the body
and Spatter its essence Into the chasm of desire. Only to renew
itself In some hidden corner Of the body's deep. |
Happiness
The fragility
of happiness Is as beautiful and delicate As a butterfly's wing. That
a thoughtless word Or rough touch Can shatter in and instance.
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Alone?
Everywhere I
walk My friends, Corporeal or invisible, Walk with me. I am never
alone, Even in loneliness.
My
grandfather, My mother, My son and My son's dog, Jack. They are
gone, but Still with me, They comfort me.
When I am
gone, Who, I wonder, Will I walk beside? Who will I comfort? Loved
ones certainly, A stranger in need?
None of us
is Entirely alone. None of us need fear The loneliness of
spirit That withers up the soul, We are never alone. |
The Tree of
Life
"I'm here to
stop," The apple cried. No you're not," The tree replied. The apple
gave a sigh. "Why not?" he asked. "'Cos even apples die," Said the
tree at last. |
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Reading
Poetry
Light, fitful,
as through a keyhole filters, Then sudden, painful, exquisite light. A
door bangs open wide in the mind, Flooding dark and dusty places. So many
doors! so many treasures In sweet confusion reign. Pick up, put down,
snatch, Savour and wallow in excess. To know so much, To taste so many
lovely words In so short a time. |
The Swallows
dont come here anymore
Harbingers of
Summer they came, Six thousand miles they flew Over desert, sea, mountain
and plain. Four ounces, swift and aerobatic in the sun, Beauty
unrestrained.
In Egypt
they cross the Sarah desert, Five hundred miles of blistering heat, Cold
nights and daylights burning sun. Many fall exhausted, dying into the
soft sand. At the African and French coasts They are relentlessly netted
to provide pate For the greedy gourmets of either land. With late and
early winters many succumb To the high altitudes and snow covered
peaks Of the Alps and the Pyrenees. Returning home to Africa, another six
thousand miles, They face their greatest nemesis, The reed bed spraying
aeroplanes, Issuing white clouds of death to the Tetse Fly. Great flocks
of Swallows fly into these clouds And spiral earthwards in an agony of death
and The earth lies crucified by a thousand feathered nails.
Our Swallows
dont come here anymore. |
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Footnote:
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Ever year as
soon as our Swallows arrived they flew directly into the house and flew around
the room piping their arrival calls and then flew out to find their nesting
site. We were always overjoyed to greet them. Two years ago they actually
nested in the roof of our porch! At first we worried about how they would get
in and out if we shut the front door at night? They demonstrated a very
brilliant solution when we tried partially closing the door, they simply flew
down and out through the letter box, which fortunately had no flap, and then
promptly zoomed back in, smirking I swear! After that we had a beautiful
relationship whereby they sat upon the upper edge of the open inner door and
watched and chattered as we went about our routines. My Swallow speak is a
little rusty, but I did try to communicate our delight and I honestly think
they at least understood the tone. They had two chicks who they introduced and
taught their flying and insect catching skills. Again the time came to leave
and once again they came in and cried their goodbyes. It was always a sad time,
but never as sad as that last, because they never came back. |
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Fox
Three hunts
they went a-hunting A Fox to catch that day But never a Fox like our
Fox Did ever come their
way. With a heigh-ho,
Tally-ho, The Fox he went
away. From Badger's Wood to Dimply Green Like lightning gone away A
merry chase. A hell of a pace Our Foxy led the
way. With a heigh-ho,
Tally-ho, The Fox he went
away. The hounds they stormed the man nests And Fox he laughed all
day Through house and field and stream and
weald He made the hound-dogs
bay. With a heigh-ho,
Tally-ho, The Fox he went away. 'Twas in the villain's garden That Fox
met death that day He fought with might and fury And made the bad man
pay. With a heigh-ho,
Tally-ho, The Fox he went
away. They sing his praise with muted breath For miles around, they
say, A brave Fox, a valiant Fox And shout hooray,
hooray. With a heigh-ho,
Tally-ho, They shout
hooray, hooray.
Taken from The Battle for Badger's
Wood by Frederick Covins © 1974, 1983, 1984 |
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