samedi 30 novembre 2013
dimanche 10 novembre 2013
lundi 2 septembre 2013
vendredi 23 août 2013
Identity
IDENTITY
Two lives.
I have two lives.
Like two pebbles
dropped in a pool
side by side
their ripples flow
into each other
on one side
yet circle separately
on the other.
jeudi 25 juillet 2013
vendredi 5 juillet 2013
dimanche 23 juin 2013
Spring breeze
Spring breeze (1)
Sweet-smelling syringa snow
Has fallen among
The blood-red begonias
Spring breeze (2)
Liquorice branches
Dipped in sweet sherbet powder
Sprinkled on the ground
samedi 22 juin 2013
mercredi 12 juin 2013
Last lesson
LAST LESSON
I take a last long look round room 209.
The broken blinds hang like loose sails, letting the
brightness in,
The windows are shut now, the air hot and stuffy.
My students, adorable as ever, have tidied away
The plastic cups, empty bottles, sweet and biscuit wrappers
And lingeringly, reluctantly, gone to their next lesson,
Leaving me alone.
I read again their lovely, loving messages,
Their drawings, green and black,
And wish I could take them with me.
Photos will have to do; I can’t let them go.
Then as I wipe them off the board
I feel I am erasing more than just ink
And the emotions I have kept in check
Surge up and spill briefly down my cheeks
As I lock the door on what is now the past.
Written 11 June 2013
dimanche 2 juin 2013
dimanche 26 mai 2013
lundi 20 mai 2013
mercredi 15 mai 2013
Recalling
RECALLING
Does your
spirit linger here, hovering,
And watch
us as we lay our offerings
Where your
ashes lay?
Do our
memories hold you here
Under the
copper beech whose newly opening leaves
Glow warmly
in the May sun
While we
tread the daisies and the close clusters
Of crocus
leaves, the flowers gone, replaced
By clumps
of daffodils, white and yellow?
Are you
there when, ritually, we lay our flowers
And quietly
recall you?
Inspired by a visit
to Canley in May 2013
dimanche 12 mai 2013
dimanche 21 avril 2013
lundi 15 avril 2013
dimanche 7 avril 2013
lundi 1 avril 2013
vendredi 29 mars 2013
jeudi 28 mars 2013
Self
SELF
A single thread strung with beads,
Each our self, held together
By this thread of time, of consciousness,
Isolated drops of memory, separate yet linked.
Each necklace unique:
Some short, some long;
Some bright with beads, varied;
Some dull, an endless string of identical selves;
Some delicate nacred drops flowing almost together,
So tightly are they strung.
Others a golden chain to a unique droplet;
Some broken, the beads strewn or lost,
Never to be restrung;
Others lasting through time,
Handed down,
worn and re-worn,
Taken apart, restrung to form new patterns,
Updated to changing times.
All unique.
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