Emer

 

A spirit that has yet to catch up with the soul
That skips away in the sun at the height of summer
Tis a running with the green grass
Giving up its sparkling tears of newly made dew
Run free spirit there are things to do and places to go

The soul will not weary or dull
If you see things with an open mind
As if a child holding onto its first flower
The beauty is a challenge to the physical being
Only hold a flower as a child in wonderment
For we are as the flowers.
In the “Aisling”, Ireland appears to the poet in a vision in the form of a woman,
sometimes young and beautiful, sometimes old and haggard.

Our lady dressed in flowing Emerald green
Tears stream at your peoples troubles, as does the rain
In rivulets that sometimes catch the sunshine.
Yet your feet are bleeding the blood of ages

It will take many miracles to mend this beautiful land,
This is your home, given by the Angels of past times.
A drop of green Angel dust in the Ocean seen
Can we start again to make this jewel shine.

Van Gogh

A Seed Head Vision

Once more I stand in awe
curving away, seeming to fall,
row on row of polished stones,
a beauty reflected, wind honed

There in the distance I must go
a spiral path of seeded cobbles so.
The stones seem to grow larger,
as I walk with the greatest care

What’s this I see at the end,
there green triangles wait for me
Then waving bright as the sun,
large yellow banners one by one

In the distance I hear a gun,
a beautiful man, dying in the sun
Scattering paints of lovers dreams,
canvas split in fields of green

I must fly now to another flower
this is the world’s terrible hour
No more will he paint in vain,
a one eared man, himself has slain

.

The Bee all and end all, of all legends

Handed down by many Bees
Is this story true, as their legend says.

A Seed Head

A Seed Head

Once more I stand in awe
curving away seeming to fall,
row on row of polished stones,
a beauty reflected, wind honed

There in the distance I must go
a spiral path of seeded cobbles so.
The stones seem to grow larger,
as I walk with the greatest care

What’s this I see at the end,
there green triangles wait for me
Then waving bright as the sun,
large yellow banners one by one

In the distance I hear a gun,
a beautiful man, dying in the sun
Scattering paints of lovers dreams,
canvas split in fields of green

I must fly now to another flower
this is the world’s terrible hour
No more will he paint in vain,
a one eared mans love has taken him….

.

The Bee all and end all, of all legends

Handed down by many Bees
Is this story true, as their legend says.

Loved

Loved

When your soul has left for pastures new
Parachutes will be no good to you.
There will be such a soggy plop
Loved’s old body thrown from atop
Where the clouds will breathe in the air
Opening those parachutes there.

Lets not waste the silken shrouds
We could have just thrown you from the clouds
Watching you plummet to the world below
Hoping that in the sea you would fall
Just a splash then nothing more.

Loved why do you worry on how you go
That on dying how you leave the world so
It will not be for you to choose the route you will take
Can I fly the aircraft of your wake??
I shall twist and dive as if you were alive.

Then reality will sink in.
Our Dear Loved wont feel a thing.
La, La Yours Sparrow who always flies free
I will remember you, if you remember me.
Please join me in that land called eternity..

Van Gogh (“In Fibonacci sequence”)

 

Nought.

Did

His

Eyes see.

Earless Art.

Painting sunflowers.

Bright colours sunshine seeking blooms.

There he missed the spiral galaxy hidden within?

A lover caught in the vortex of seeking relief, not seeing the inner beauty.

Painting even the plucked blooms then left them to rot away somewhere, showing the missed spiral of the universe even to his soon dead eyes.

The ladies heart could not be stolen by gifts such as his, so he was tormented even to death, that his life had become of no worth, seeking his own way to punish himself for his worthless ways, painting over the cracks of his sad life.

Now today he is worshipped as a god of beauty, yet it is a shame that his eyes did not see the things that his brush of beauty and torment pushed oil over, there covering many things his heart had not only missed but could have felt, had he been able to use words rather than the oils and paints of his era, bringing new looks to the art of capturing nature.

 

A walk with Loved

Loved Thank you
For being there walking with me,
It is of times to come and bygone days
That I talk of in poetic ways.
Where we can meet without a care
Just reach out with a thought
I am there

Yet you fade into your own world
That is still alright with me
Our sanctuary is ours to be
Where we can rest and take things in
Then out walking with friends again.
Though you cannot see me there
In your ways you know I share
As all poets who dare.

We will walk another mile then that will do
This old man must rest a while
It is ten past midnight
Now I can see you smile
That it is late for me
As the older I get
Becoming a baby
This is how we shall return
As a child fresh and new
With an enhanced Spirit
For knowing all of you.

Yenti

Dawn

 

 

Dare I say Dawn

 

To wander alone in dark areas of your soul

Is only that you hurt so

To be as you wish to be then think of things

But not from me, but of early days

That were just so, when people would say

I will see you go as a child that is held in awe

Of things that someone who has the gaul

To hold you in their mind

 

Now you need to leave things behind

To make new ways you need from now

Think of what they are or how

They came to be this way

Tears are worth the thoughts of better days

If we can be so bold

To speak of all the things we know

Then to act on their ways

 

It’s fine for me to talk just so

As this life came and on I do go

To see of others as they should be

Not as they would wish me to see

In days to come you will bother none

You’ll sort things that you know will be

Then as you are true to things in your soul

This will give you liberty

 

To run as you would in days gone by

Hair blowing in the wind

Without a care for things that be

Just sort these things, many things into

The pattern that suits just you

There deep inside to view

Then just look and see the gentle ways

Of all the things for you to do

 

They cannot see the things you need

As you hold them tight not free

Let go of these things within yourself

let others that need to see

Then days will come with others seen

Understanding of your dreams

They will learn to walk again

With you

Joan

Joan

The lights dimmed, disolving into the velvet night
Soft sheets gathered her form into their open arms
Music from afar touched her mind in gentle waves
Holding her in a love of just being alone

Friends had left earlier for their own needs
Two days of peaceful dreams touching her ways
An excuse they made, but they exposed her smile
Two lazy days of reading as dreamtime captured her

Puzzling moments that seem to hold nothing
A comforting nothing that washed over her
Feelings hovered about her, gently sweeping through
Seemingly lost in a world of perfect loneliness

This was perfect. too perfect in its being
A natural extreme that she loved about being alone
Nothing to disturb and distract, though pleasantly queer
She felt the dream carry on in its tranquill emptiness.

Feelings like to that of being dead, drifting forever.
Feeling nothing, a cloak of herself, that defied structure
Just a form, no perception, sleeping on heedlessly.
Racing away as the dreams took to their journey

Fields of black that she could feel under her running feet
Clinging to her hair, felt throughout her body’s form
A kind of empty coldness, without life or being
She tired of running, tired of the sleep state

Breathing in slow undulating waves that touched the shore
It was still and measured, deep, slow and recuperating.
Trumpet sounds cascaded into her dreams jolting a response
Many thoughts pressed her, as she reached for the phone

Why is the morning not here, it should be outside my window
Six in the morning a natural time to leave dreams behind
But it was still dark, darker than she remembered.
Possibly a moonless night, but that was odd for the night ?

There were no lights black had invaded like a blackout
Reaching for her timepiece, it seemed to be out of reach.
A strange feeling held her form not known before
Not standing or sitting, how could this be, just being?

Slight panic touched her way as if to question reality
Restless dreams screamed life into her mind
She called out yet there was only her mind shouting
Her body moved though it felt as if she flowed

The panic died away as spatial perception disappeared
No left hand, foot or right of any feelings that should be,
Yet a quiet awareness of herself just being there
This moment became a reality and stretched to eternity

Beauty Sleep

Beauty Sleep

I sat watching shadows outside my window
Thrown through the trees by golden lamps
Those that clung to the Earth from the Moon
Breezes drifted them all to and fro as the Ocean

Too warm to sleep, I let wake dreams come and go
Each patch, casting a memory into fleeting spaces
Drifting so, I rested into your restless feelings.
Shadow spaces out there,a tilt, the flick of your hair

Dark places that held the depth of your eyes
The movment of the evening held your smile
I stayed with you, as stars twinkled and were gone
Moon shadows followed, as new shadows rose

Then shadows lengthened once more, to shorten again
The window glowed as if an Angel was watching me
There in the new light, I felt renewed though tired
Your Memory became bright I turned from the window..

Wesley H Snow

Words flow in poetry and prose
Each carefully crafted as we all know
Selecting phrases never heard before
Long or short words checked for more
Each line holding the one before
You can’t catch him out that’s for sure

Hates acrostic’s so I am told

Senile and grumpy he’s none of these
Now if I upset him, he wont be pleased
Oh! damn I have stirred a wasps nest
Wesley though is one of the best