A New Poem


Effortless grace

(Photo credit: Colin 30d)


Love Is A Journey

Love is a pilgrimage.
Love is a pledge to
The journey. Love is
Love of the journey.

Love falters when one does
Not commit, commit
To keep on course and
Do the work required.

Immediate or
Effortless is not love.
Love is a final
Choice, not a default.

You may know it is
Ahead and begin
The trek but not know
What the voyage will hold.

Can you find the track,
Can you stay the course?
When you falter can you
Find the way to love?

Look for a beacon
To guide you, shining
From my hard working
Heart to show the way.
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A Poem


This weeks Weekly Writing Challenge asks us to write a poem so here is one I dashed off quickly.

Writing poetry,
 the right words
    in the right order,
takes all my skill
 and strife with
  language and theme.

I slowly grind
  out a draft
    and play and play
      till from the chaos
        art emerges with
          the muses gift.

Wandering No More


Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo

I

Acheron’s waters wash me
Till Lethe slakes my thirst.
Eris breaks my mind
And the Maniae have moved in.

I am old with wandering
And cannot keep you safe.
I go to dance in a place apart
where even the old are fair.

I am not even an attendant lord, 
no Rosencrantz or Guildenstern,
but just a rude mechanical 
to dig a grave or play a wall.

This golden apple is not mine,
It passed to you awhile.
Keep it safe and close to you
Till time and times are done.

II

Now it lies in your hands and here we are,
At this moment where the dancer is and the dance.
The falcon in his gyre makes his turn 
through the past, the passing and the still to come.

Mind not mind, but that which is not mind,
Desiccation of the world of order,
Evacuation of the world of truth,
Inoperancy of the world of mind.

Hamlet’s question holds my mind while 
At my back cold blasts I feel.
I wish to strive, to seek, to find and 
Not to yield. The centre will hold,
For there you are, my golden light.

Published with (huge) apologies to W.B. Yeats and T.S. Eliot. I have torn and mangled and misquoted but they both inspire.

Like all my attempts at anything but non-fiction prose I am still not entirely happy with this but I post it nonetheless. It’s been three weeks ruminating and writing so I feel it’s now or never.

Happy You Know What


[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]

BY e e cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                      i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)