Indignant in her confidence
she is a crutch for many,
but now time to drop the penny.
That there are two ends to a rope,
in all her strengthened binding,
the power to haul sails aloft
where life’s canvas can only
be seen in her, as steady.
As she goes, now needs secure knots,
a chain splice might be the tight.
http://www.animatedknots.com/chainsplice/index.php?
dwk
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
…. 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
throw rocks of knowledge,
not pebbles of cursing.
dwk
….from the nursery across the street,
I hear the sounds of rushing feet
and gleeful, over-shoulder goodbyes,
not even contact with mother’s eyes.
Alone all day to play with friends
while mother and father
fight to find ends,
let alone make them meet!
To keep ‘baby’ healthy
and buy large eye gifts,
generation separating things
that parental imagination
never thought could exist.Joy shrieking, learn wandering,
through their day of play,
once a neighbour complained
that “that such a facility should
not be in a residential space..
(as statisticians working from home),
..could not bear the noise of this place”.
He moved…..
They, happily play on, unaware
as should be.But generation gaps are now canyons.
Most under 40’s have shared this absence,
left alone to navigate, without a sail
just a pilot, those needed departed?
Is detachment of young spirit
a subtle conditioning through
necessary gregarious engagement,
later rejected?
A displaced absorption from ’parent’s knee’,
substituting language, mannerism or even physicality
for which only familiar DNA has the key?Locked away forever,
inhibited by prevailing culture
that belongs to the consuming mass,
instead of the sweet intimacy of the nest
or grandma’s best?
Then there! A green bud
whose spirit shouts though lips sealed,
flashing against society’s soil
that the unselfish, the unspoilt
do persist.
dwk
Division destroys,
it locates the smallest crack
and levers particles apart.
The way of physics also seems
the way of the heart.
As unison employs
the healing of conscience
and setting aside of self.
Stable partnerships flourish
enveloping us, in love’s wealth.
Self-respect is only achieved
through reverence given.
......over the edge 