Poetry Blog by Rich

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M.C. Newberry on No Return (Sun, 31 Mar 2019 05:58 pm)

Don Matthews on Nab Me a Seat (Sat, 16 Mar 2019 08:50 am)

Hazel ettridge on Stone (Tue, 5 Mar 2019 06:53 pm)

Rich on Stone (Tue, 5 Mar 2019 04:14 pm)

Kate G on Stone (Sun, 3 Mar 2019 01:09 pm)

Dorothy Webb on Stone (Sun, 3 Mar 2019 11:27 am)

Rich on To a Younger Self (Fri, 1 Mar 2019 04:59 pm)

Cynthia Buell Thomas on To a Younger Self (Wed, 27 Feb 2019 04:08 pm)

raypool on To a Younger Self (Tue, 26 Feb 2019 07:34 pm)

Rich on Face Time (Thu, 21 Feb 2019 04:31 pm)

No Return

Humans have a place in Earth’s systems,

we’re designed to play a role in Earth’s cycles.


Original populations had everything to hand,

anything a human could ever want can be found on this planet.


Eden has been traded for technology,

integration with nature for science.


What’s driving this exodus?

What’s distancing us from Eden?


Economic growth drives gov...

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Escaping Authority

As a child, authority has the right to judge, to impose a world view on you.

I followed the wrong advice, from the right person: I crashed and never recovered.

My adviser remained unblameable, my ingrained behaviour protected them.

I played the role of shamed dunce, my adviser triumphant, a respected icon.

Exposing their manipulation, their cunning, would have hurt too many people.


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Nab Me a Seat

In a crowded bar, we nab a table,

acquiring a seat, in case we lose out.


Taking for self incurs disadvantage

for others, as we take their rightful share.


So we look out for ourselves, determined

that we gain advantage through selfishness.


Making us fight for everything drives

division, isolation and mistrust.


We compete for resources, just in case


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We’ve had a relationship with the natural

world since the dawn of our species – longer, perhaps.

Stone, an artefact of Earth, is a case in point –

stone tools, stone houses – stone henge; cathedrals of stone.

Plastic figurines are not the same as sculptures

crafted in stone – people don’t respond the same way.

Energy of some sort flows between us and stone;

humans respond to n...

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To a Younger Self

Allow your family to earn pride from your life,

but don’t let that drive your future – disinherit

yourself from the dread pawn shop of parental pride.


Yesteryear’s values are manifested today,

as we’re taught that previous generation’s life

strategies should be our perpetuate creed also.


Ignore the towering expectation, which would

propel you into adulthood living el...

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Face Time

Time’s passage ignites my consciousness,

my moment the confluence of past

and future.  Ageing toward my fate, time’s

experience-gale savages my

awareness.  We all die, it just takes time -

we’re transient: catherine-wheels on posts,

we make sparks fly.  Some hit tindered ground,

causing satellite conflagrations -

together we make a fire, burning

out in time’s onslaught, ...

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Nature's Bounty

Harvesting our garden’s verdant bounty

is our intention – we arrange planting,

watering, bedding – all toward our goal:

to indulge keenly in nature’s harvest.


Stretching front and back, our garden surrounds

the safe fulcrum of our lives: our dwelling

is characterised through the commitment

we put into this, our sanctuary.


Enjoying a barbecue with a friend,


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Gyre Gulls

Seagulls gyre – wocker-challing and crocker-calling,

skiffer-wheeling, wind-kiting and hoarse-calling

keer-wails into a bluster-buffet, ear-sharked, eye-grit gale,

blowing smithereens out of the sea wall,

the surf and the pebbles that make up the beach,

grind-clockering and ratter-schacketling back and forth,

to and fro in weather’s storm-force mayhem.

In the air gulls cry caw...

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Over the hill, perhaps, though not long in the tooth.

The hill’s steep.  On the ascent you encounter

ice falls, overhangs, precipices and chimneys,

interspersed with long, sloping meadows, thick wooded

rises with warm, safe shelters with hot fires, soft bunks.

Air’s fresher up on a hill – clearer; providing

moments of crystal clarity, waking senses –

opening the sinuses, power...

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Grey light.  Cold trunks.  Leaf litter in the damp

morning.  Chainsaw gloves smell of oil, petrol,

wood shavings and exhaust.  Gloves stiff with cold,

infused with toil and woodland management.


A deer crosses, silent stealth, picking soft

through the green-tinged, spring-poised coppice.  March is

in touching distance, harvest will cease while

flowers grow.  No one sees th...

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Behind the Front

You can’t see what’s behind the

front, you’ll never know what’s there,

my secrets preserved, reasons

my own, suffice to say these

circumstances demand self

defence; were I to let on

reality, I’d crumble.


So I control what folk see,

protecting them from my truth,

no need to burden all with

harshness and gloom, that’s secret,

my safety inherent in

that secret...

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