Poetry

 

Camouflage for Old Battleships – (from The English are Waking Up Collection. First published by Sarasvati, 2012).

This Christmas skyline wears the uniform
Of an aging summer.
A relentless resistance,
One gained through timeless maturity.

A camouflage for old battleships.
Out dated. Useless as scrape metal.
Over shadowed by modern developments,
So left to rust.

We find antonyms in every sentence,
In every eye of every needle.
A power struggle forms telling aspects,
Until leaks can no longer be plugged.

And power spills, only to be collected,
In large vats under the surface to be redistributed.
Money talks louder than any voice
And we all become lost in the camouflage of old battleships.

—————-

Norwegian Grey – (from The English are Waking Up Collection).

Soiled with frustration,
An attempt to cut an aged forest
With nothing but blunt teeth.
The vein-blue of your eyes ceased,
Jilted by Norwegian grey, vintage steam.
That told me all as the texts dried up
And you went AWOL backwards.

—————-

First published work of 2014, a poem called Northern Roots, written for a family friend.

Friendship’s calm mote, hand-in-hand, carries us together.
Our clamshell hearts speak truths,
tracing lines from north east to south west and back north, once again.
Grown from the same roots, we are physically separate, yet, still spiritually one.
We are a token of friendship’s bravery, its ability to preserve the youth within an affinity for life’s simplicity.
Our dreams guide us with childish wit,
our friendship cradles the paths we choose,
honouring promises as every year trebles the last,
and another year’s growth for our friendship’s calm mote.

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