I must have said the words a hundred times that night
close to mother’s ear , in hushed voice with shushes,
‘sleep mam, sleep,
try to find your sleep’.
to an ear that had heard my first ever cry,
and the first sounds uttered by three others.
A shell that had heard the lap or crash of many sea tides.
pinned back for orders in service as a Wren.
A vessel generously lent, often bent,
but thrilled by a husband’s laughter.
An organ that balanced her true singing voice
given in celebratory song for her belief,
that absorbed a bible and Salvationist’s songbook.
Open to aid all others, never deaf to need
this was now the phone for my repeating
‘mam,
try to find your sleep’.
Archive for the ‘love’ Category
. . . find your sleep
Posted: December 28, 2016 in family, Health and wellness, Intimacy, lost, love, People, Poems, portraitsTags: Family, Life, Poetry, relationships
Buddha of Suburbia
Posted: January 11, 2016 in Entertainment, inspiration, love, lyrics, Media, Music, Poems, poetryTags: David Bowie, London
1
Living in lies by the railway line
Pushing the hair from my eyes
Elvis is English and climbs the hills
Can’t tell the bullshit from the liesScreaming along in South London
Vicious but ready to learn
Sometimes I fear that the whole world is queer
Sometimes but always in vainSo I’ll wait until we’re sane
Wait until we’re blessed and all the same
Full of blood, loving life and all it’s got to give
Englishmen going insaneDown on my knees in Suburbia
Down on myself in every wayWith great expectations I change all my clothes
Mustn’t grumble at silver and gold
Screaming above Central London
Never bored, so I’ll never get oldSo I’ll wait until we’re sane
Wait until we’re blessed and all the same
Full of blood, loving life and all it’s got to give
Englishmen going insaneDown on my knees in suburbia
Down on myself in every wayDay after, day after day, day after
Zane, Zane, Zane, Ouvre le chien
Day after day, day after
Zane, Zane, Zane, Ouvre le chien
Day after
Songwriters
DAVID BOWIEPublished by
Lyrics © TINTORETTO MUSIC
. . . . the stuff of upholstery
Posted: October 14, 2014 in Intimacy, lost, loveTags: Character, Love
. . . . . something strange, but perhaps inevitable has happened in this world of social interaction, pinging pictures and words off anyone with a IT device (and money for the charge-up), must by course, must navigate one towards a second encounter, with that unique first person.
the first, boy or girlfriend, the first kiss in passion, the first glorious smile of focused recognition when you turned up early or late, it didn’t matter and now as tactile as you may like to be, you can’t touch, you can’t speak as you once did, you cannot spin in that universe. I should not be typing this. She may see it but I cannot help myself, I could delete instantaneously (ctrl+a)+(delete) select all erase and F4 to close this program.
?
But I have not closed this page…. yet.
I am genuinely happy for her and her family of 3 children, her life and her newest skill making chairs comfortable or even glamorous again. She has her own little business, and does good work. (I once spent my career teaching others and the upholstery next door studio department tutors became my friends and showed me a lot of restoration work they did beside teaching. So another vein of the past is stitched into my encounter with a school friend’s Facebook friends list, Don’t say that too quickly you may hurt yourself).
I cannot believe beyond the sayings and expressions of “first love” how strong 40 years later, feelings actually are when she acknowledges my presence in this world with a click or tap on a thumbs up symbol or an unlit star to make it shine. Of passage it is a broken link but it has been repaired so rapidly that the link is of a 16 year old’s feelings that were filed away a long time ago, brought out, dusted down, resprung and adequately upholstered to its full form. I am stopped in my tracks.
She was the one and the intimacy was depth itself. I still cannot believe the feelings her name, words, picture will always invoke, like fabric pulled tight and tacked, the form and shape become right and compliment the structure. Love is not a four lettered word it is a pathetic attempt by language to explain pure happiness in unison with another.
forgive me for this,
dwk
. . . . . . . over there
Posted: August 5, 2014 in Intimacy, love, memory, People, Poems, relationshipsTags: 2014, Love, Memory, Poems, Poetry, Togetherness
like a canyon’s span
the space between us
is now immense.
that speck of light & shadow
over there,
was once our planet,
was our delight of tactile warmth.
the prism of touch that brings bliss
beyond lips and hands.
the rock over there, where she stands
is her life sphere, her family and friends
that’s not my place,
over there.
but laid out like a drill sample
for inspection on electronic pages
it churns emotion like the blade
that pulled this strata cylinder
out of the background.
separated by existence itself
life has slipped through fingers
to make our places, there and here
and lost, infinite possibilities,
had I not leapt from the rig
over there.
© dwk
where are you? I look everywhere for the foundation, something solid on which to plant four feet and enjoy the sun and yet we have hardly begun. Your laugh echoes disturbing my natural compass my balance, my wanting, the happy but ricocheting sound defies the possibility of physical mobility so that we can simply meet in measured, metered ground, that suits your needs. Should I build this place? Should I continue searching and end this eternal floating? Is that you, behind the sky that is so impenetrably clouded by the devils of others’ reality? Then an opaque realisation; your shadow glanced there but again only fresh earth bare. Where are your footprints in my tiny sphere of reference? Is that your dear, soft face, in the shattered reflection of my pooled teardrops. Please find my arms and make this stop…………… dwk09
. . . . slipping, shifting shingle
Posted: June 28, 2014 in Intimacy, love, People, personalities, Poems, SeascapesTags: Love, memories, Poems, Poetry
was it ever quiet? were we ever still?
every day a struggle to master the storm? gusts of passion drove us from youth and innocence. love was tempestuous and softness and fragility became hardened. deep scars healed, taught and changed us. left us clinging to rocks in a sea of fears.
was it ever quiet? as we made our passage from ignorance to knowledge. were we ever still enough to find the stars, to feel tide flow, to plot our course? we hurled ourselves against the breakers, blind in passion within the foam and clasping hands, struggling for balance, for a foothold on the slipping, shifting shinglestone.
were we ever still? as bitter brine washed wounds with wet and cold reality, cooling the ecstasy of experience and now here, aloft in the safe arms of the rigging, over a green grey sea I search horizons for that elusive point of light and persist in hope,
a moment of peace in the skyline of your deep eyes and the sun of your smile.
for V
©dwk
. . . . and even time given
Posted: November 2, 2013 in Brain Health, Health and wellness, love, People, PoemsTags: destiny, fate, Health, Love, Memory, Mindset, people, Poems, Poetry
the edge of the bed
where hearts bled
help proffered, even comfort given
but the stain remains.
where vanity released,
partners pleased
and even time given
but the shame remains.
where time slows
and frames per second bend and bow
relief from weights given
but the life span remains.
where sunlight stripes
where smiles touch
looks and contact given
but the pain is sustained
and hours passed, time taken
on the edge of the bed
where this was written.
©dwk
. . . . or the cutting adrift
Posted: March 27, 2013 in Health and wellness, love, People, Poems, relationshipsTags: Boats, destiny, fate, Health, Life, Poems, Sailing
…. here I am at 12am
using boating metaphors again
writing to another darling
that isn’t exactly plain sailing.
Boats are good for describing fate
and in my poem, writing late:
the tossing of a craft in a storm
or the cutting adrift, seconds
after we’re born !
Describe perfectly the voyage of life.
Adrift?
Waiting for some coming strife?
Winds blown by providence
with great effect for some.
Partners in life can be as sails
allowing us to pursue our trails
some big and billowing
allowing much tack or
others are for smaller ships
and sagging in ambition lack.
Becalmed, without choice
we wait for any movement
as in life we wait for improvement.
Currents can push us off set course
despite our mad paddling,
as if we could deter such force.
But, phrases such as: marooned,
castaway and high & dry
seem most used and appropriate
when there is no rope to tie.
No safe harbour, no protection
as the storm swirls and rages,
just loneliness, awaiting the next entry
in the log of destiny’s pages.
dwk ‘86
Scottish wier
Posted: February 22, 2013 in love, Photographs, TravelTags: mill pool, rivers, scotland, waterways
as I have enjoyed your words and pictures this year, thanks everyone who subscribes, visits, comments etc. – dave
©dwk
. . . . . for the unwilling
Posted: November 19, 2012 in love, People, personalities, PoemsTags: distant admiration, Love, Poems, rejection
of course I love you
I always have
but you would not have it
so that was that.
I will not fight
for the unwilling
as in some scene
disownment will crack
any dream.
I will not persist
with love unfulfilling
all it can mean is
frustration will ransack
all thoughts unseen.
Of course, I love you
I watch your surf wave
and hope your spirit
floats above my flat.
dwk
. . . . reflection
Posted: November 13, 2012 in love, People, PoemsTags: Love, Poetry, relationships, solutions, trial & failure
You see,
the problem is the solution is:
it’s broken, adhesion
in pieces: willing togetherness,
dull shards bright futures
of expectancy, of a full life,
lost euphoria, that awakening
fragments of intimacy. engagement
Thrown many times in a single glance,
dropped so often, caught in closeness
it no longer has a chiming bell
a pulse. a passionate throb.
It so depends on how you look at line or range.
dwk
......over the edge 