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Blue Umbrella

sun shines down on love

rain spatters lonely grief

only my blue umbrella's

a consolation and relief

 

she's left me for another

I'm stuck in a Scotch mist

imagining her in his arms

the passion of their tryst

 

but for my blue umbrella

I'd sink down and drown

or reach for my hat and

decamp to another town

 

the storm rages overhead

my umbrella keeps m...

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blueconsolationdryrainshadestormsunumbrella

Shade Darkening To Shadow

Life in the shade was good

Your fame left me aglow

Finding you loved another

Dealt my ego a heavy blow

 

I thought love was exclusive

Deceit turned me to a saddo

No more your sole princess

Shade darkening to shadow

 

Now shade enfolds my rival

She enjoys your reputation

Seeking not the limelight

Knowing what is her station

 

Maybe I wanted too much

E...

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egolovepolyamorysaddoshadeshadow

Grey Areas

Like piano keys my perspectives were

All or nothing black or white

Molehills or mountains

As much shade as a desert

The colour-blind empire of a

Benevolent despot

It took a disaster but now

I see grey areas sometimes

They match my hair

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grey areashairshade

My Old Beech

This tree

is old

 

It knows its time but has grown in the ancient hedge

escaping the billhook and the thresher blade

standing 'gainst the farmer's pledge

that every stem should be neatly laid

 

This tree

is wise

 

It is as large as it needs to be and no more

its spread has grown to contain all of its leaves

and each year it grows to store

just as many leav...

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beechesfellinghedgeshedgingshadetrees

The Imperfect Gardener

The Imperfect Gardener

 

Someone once said, long ago or last week,

that it's futile on a finite and populous planet

to seek a truth, or a finely polished apple,

in the still-life-on-canvas we daily behold,

and by such uncouth behaviour

we are mostly confounded, and fail to grapple.

 

So we're prisoners here, in uncounted millions,

unable to leap high or fast enough to...

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canvascondemneddespairfutilemowingprisonerssereshadeyouth

The Fire and the Rose

The Fire and the Rose

 

If death greets us singly, one-by-one, alone

And asks why we should not be taken back,

The brave will say (or else the wiser grown)

That little terror lies along that track;

Since each knows well he lives in separate rooms

Though sometimes letting others stay awhile,

But still the doorway closes as a tomb

Excludes affliction, slights the sinner's ...

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bravedeathdoorwayguileseparateshadeshadowstombtriumphs

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