Library
The library within my head has quite a massive store
It’s stuffed up to the ceilings height with poems, tales, and lore
I’ve traced paths along these pages, lost in world of ink
I’ve collected all their offerings, and thought new thoughts to think
I see the world through others eyes, that mine will ne’er behold
Maybe written yesterday or been penned in ages old
The characters are different, the scenery may change
But it’s nice to know the things I feel are really not that strange
My experiences are mine alone but the world is still the same
And there’s so much more life that’s lived somewhere outside my frame
Maybe someday I’ll write my own, and somewhere, someone find
Who sees their own small story in the winding roads of mine
Maldon Sonnet
Allow me not this battlefield to leave
Since my lord’s sacred soul from here was sent
So give me no long life to waste and grieve
When worse than death is lordless life’s lament
Gold rings had I accepted from his hand
And mead and ale did share in feasting halls
These heart-sworn oaths lead men to war-scorched lands
To win renown or into darkness fall
So in my blood-soaked hand my sword will stay
And with what strength holds yet within my frame
Will rend his foes while ‘ere I breathe, but pray
Upon the close my fate may be the same
No thought of joy, or life, or next sunrise
No hope will drag me hence from my lord’s side
Skies
When do you think we shall again
See such skies as these
Renaissance clouds all drifting past
Escorted by a breeze
Tinted blue and blushing pink
But edged with burning gold
Last stretch of light from heavens grasp
With warming rays enfold
The horizon’s line will drown the sun
Its colours will wash away
No painter’s brush could hold them here
No will could beg them stay
Meadhall
Here is the hall of my homeland
Here the gold cup gleam in the fire’s glow
Here crowds mix in a chorus of colours
Here have I found food and fellowship
Where many rejoice with mead-filled mirth.
There my treasure-giver treats us to his table
And the horn is passed from hand to hand.
The rafters resound with the revels
And smoke and song with starlight mix .
Outside storms may snarl and snap
And rains wrath may rage in the night
But this hall will hold back the harshness of the world
And dangers dare not pass the door
I have found my fire-fastened friendships
And with warmth and welcome, wanderings cease.
Exposure
In fading light comes half a camera’s click
A motionless eye beholds the bustling scene
Before the second clicks echoes and picks
My time-trapped view of what has been
The proud buildings do loom within the frame
So crisp and clear in their stability
Consistent, still, so they remain the same
Inspire immovable tranquility
While moving life is edged with a slight blur
As clambering people all together blend
The more movement, the more phantoms occur
As spectral smudges dance before the lens
I am not still, in my innermost
My wand’ring heart leaves me a ghost.
Spell of Canterbury
There’s a land where the cities are ancient
And built around skeletal stones
The abbeys and castles lie vacant
A medieval world overthrown
I’ve walked the veins of this city
Through its cathedrals and crypts all so still
But there’s life and love in its history
And I want to belong here—and I will
Moon
The world is hushed and quiet
Like footprints in the snow
And somber, serene light seeps from
The slivered moon’s soft glow
No wind to shake the leaves outside
No rain falls from the sky
No noise except my own heartbeat
It’s just the moon and I
The light will come at break of dawn
To announce the coming day
Awaken the bustle and new life
But that’s still far away
The stillness quivers in the air
As time gently ticks by
The world is full, but for tonight
It’s just the moon and I
Pub Life
From my pub window I can see
The busy streets of Canterbury
While I serve drinks and polish glass
I like to watch the people pass
The currents of crowds do ebb and flow
Some stay a while, while some just go
Straight trough the square while on their way
To whate’er life has in store that day
The sun sinks low and daylight fades
The light goes golden, then it greys
And folks in search of drinks and grub
Find their welcome in every pub
The pub crawlers make their way through
But most will sit and enjoy the view
I serve them beer or wine or gin
Then listen to the growing din
Strangers and friends from near and far
Will one by one come to the bar
There’s a pair of old school mates
And there, a couple on their first date
Old friends will meet with an embrace
The talk and laughter fill the place
Chairs, walls, and roofs just play a role
The life inside gives pubs their soul
The day is done, I lock the door
I wipe the tables, mop the floor
Put chairs back out so all is right
Look back once more, turn off the light
The crowds are gone, now all is still,
And lights from closed shop windows fill
The streets with light, shining with rain
As I start walking home again
So many have trod this busy street
Cobbles smoothed flat by centuries of feet
The monk and knights, peasants and kings
whichever travellers ages bring
And my feet too will wear a trail
A little mark of my own tale
It won’t be much, but it’s a trace
To mark the time I walked this place
Storm
Tighten all the ropes, good friends
The horizon’s growing dark
We knew this storm was brewing
Back when we first embarked.
Pack away the sail, good friends
Or t’will be ripped to shreds
The winds grow strong and stormy
With churning clouds o’erhead
Lash me to the mast, good friends
For the seas do start to swell
I cannot risk being swept away
When the tempest will not quell
Hide thee in the cabin, good friends
And pray for days to come
That we’ll hold course straight through the gale
And see the rising sun
The storm is finally here, good friends
No stars will guide the way
But in the chaos looming forth
May we find hope and not dismay
Grey
Colour drains from the sky, down into storm drains
The sky smothers sound, dampening the streets
Dim light crawls through the curtains as raindrops claw at the window pain
You’re safe inside, surrendered under swells of blankets
Listening to arpeggio raindrops
The world may be outside
Let it stay there
As smudges outside the window
Impressionist paintings through grey fogged glass
Tomorrow may yet come
Let it stay there
In the blurry distance, far away
It’s uncertainties out of focus and out of reach
The sun may shine tomorrow
Let it stay there
The clouds show no sign of breaking
A promise of warmth does not keep out the present chill
You may be happy tomorrow
Let it stay there
For now
Just for now
Hold fast to the sadness
Because it’s here
And it’s now
And maybe it will pour itself out
Before the rain stops
Bookstores
A bookstore’s floors should creek
The forest’s groan of a world antique
Crisscrossed carpets smother sock-shod feet
A cloistered cathedral off a busy street
Books on shelves, or on the floor
Insides lined with long-lost lore
With pages packed in every nook
A hidden world for those who look
A bookworm’s armchair should be snug
To sit with blankets, a billowy hug
That holds one tight, tied to their text
While pages flip to see what’s next
Along the lines, the reader scours
So unaware of passing hours
Their bodies do not leave their home
But mind is free to fly and roam
Book covers should be old and worn
A wrinkle or two, a page corner torn
Like favourite teddies, fur loved off
Cracked open until the spine’s gone soft
Gateways to worlds of paper and ink
Unlock imagination to dream and think
To conjure thoughts before unthought
Or thought once before but then forgot
A reader’s evening should be long
Their life outside, a distant song
The grey dust dances in the beams
As one day’s stories become one night’s dreams
As shadows stretch across the room
A light holds back the creeping gloom
Those tales and times becoming more
In a light that wasn’t there before
Testimony
Retracing photographic steps up memory lane
through the cities and mountains and unfamiliar terrain
that became known like the back of my hand Most of these have been seen by no eyes but my own
Holiday slideshows can only be so long
I’ll share my edited adventure
The pretty pieces where I captured something special
That looks like what the travel agency promisedBut there are more
Stacks more
These aren’t all postcard moments
Not gallery art
They didn’t all make the scrapbook or picture frame
But I still lookIn these, the trees may have dropped their leaves
The sky may be grey and blank
Maybe I’ll go back when the flowers are in bloom
And the sunset skies can paint colour into my photos
But maybe I won'tTourists blocking my own tourist photos
Maybe I’ll go back some early morning
Before fellow travellers emerge from their hostels and hotels
But I probably won’tBecause when I was here
This place looked like this
These were the buildings
The people
The light
The shadows
I walked these streets and saw these thingsThis is my version of life And I know who was walking beside me
Patiently
Or impatiently
Waiting for my shutterbug senses to be satisfied
I remember the things the clicks didn’t catch
The in-between frames
The mental tales triggered by an unremarkable shot
I can see the gap stretching between then and now‘I haven’t seen her in so long’ ‘I remember that dress, might still have it somewhere’ ‘How much has his face changed’ I know which smiles were for the sake of camera
And which ones stayed on when it was turned off My camera is my witness
my biographer
my testimony