Poems

Somewhere between what she’d survived
and who she was becoming
was exactly where she was meant to be.
She was beginning to love the journey,
finding comfort in the quietest corners
of her wildest dreams.
They say people don’t change. . .
Well. . .
She wasn’t always this way. Even if she didn’t
change the entire world, she would change
her part of it. And she would affect those she
shared it with.
A butterfly, whose wings have been touched,
can indeed still fly.
Whether something was meant to be
or meant to leave
no longer mattered as much.
She would soak up the sun,
kiss the breeze,
and she would fly
regardless.

J. Raymond

Do not stand
By my grave, and weep.
I am not there
I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
As you wake with morning’s hush
I am the swift up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
Do not stand
by my grave, and cry –
I am not there,
I did not die.

Clare Harner

“Come you masters of war. You that build all the guns.
You that build the death planes.
You that build all the big bombs.
You that hide behind walls.
You that hide behind desks.
I just want you to know I can see through your
masks.
Let me ask you one question, Is your money
that good?
Will it buy you forgiveness, do you think that it
could?,
I think you will find, when your death takes its
toll, all the money you made, will never buy
back your soul”
Bob Dylan

“And I’ll dance with you in Vienna,
I’ll be wearing a river’s disguise.
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder
my mouth on the dew of your thighs.

And I’ll bury my soul
in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there
and the moss.

And I’ll yield to the flood
of your beauty,
my cheap violin
and my cross.”

Federico Garcia Lorca

“Loving the earth, seeing what has to be done to it, I grow sharp, I grow cold.
Where will the trilliums go, and the coltsfoot?
Where will the pond lilies go to continue living their simple , penniless lives,
lifting their faces of gold?
Impossible to believe we need so much as the world wants to buy.
I have more clothes, lamps, dishes, paper clips than I could possibly use before I die.
Oh, I would like to live in an empty house, with vines for walls, and a carpet of grass.
No planks, no plastic, no fibreglass.
And I suppose sometime I will.
Old and cold I will lie apart from all this buying and selling, with only the beautiful earth in my heart.”

Mary Oliver

Then said a rich man, Speak to us of giving. And he answered:
You give but little when you give of your possessions.
It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.
For what are your possessions but things you keep and guard for fear you may need them to-morrow?
And to-morrow, what shall to-morrow bring to the over-prudent dog burying bones in the trackless sand as he follows the pilgrims to the holy city.
And what is fear of need but need itself?
Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, the thirst that is unquenchable?
There are those who give little of the much which they have – and they give it for recognition and their hidden desire makes their gifts unwholesome
And there are those who have little and give it all.

Kahlil Gibran

It was only a sunny smile, and little it cost in the giving, but like morning light it scattered the night and made the day worth living.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald

“All that is gold does not glitter, not all who wander are lost;
the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring;
renewed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king.”
J.R.R. Tolkien

You and I have spoken all these words,
but as for the way we have to go,
words are no preparation.

There is no getting ready, other than grace.
Very little grows on jagged rock.
Be ground. Be crumbled, so wildflowers will
come up where you are.
You’ve been stony for too many years.
Try something different.
Surrender.
Rumi

Nobody cared a bit, folks said,
When the wicked old man at the gate lay dead.

He had no kith, and he had no kin, And nobody cared his love to win:
Nobody thought of him kindly, none,
For many a cruel thing he’d done;
And many a bitter and angry word
From those thin lips the neighbours heard.
He had lived alone, he
had died alone,
With never a friend he could call his own,
Or so folks thought;
And the coffin grim,
Passed through the gate of his garden ground.

But hush! A requiem’s softened sound
Stole over the silence,
And someone said:
‘Tis the little brown linnet the old man fed.’
Dylan Thomas

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into that silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray,
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
Christina Rossetti

Love
is a ripe plum
Growing on a purple tree
Taste it once
And the spell of its enchantment
Will never let you be

Love
is a bright star
Glowing in far Southern skies
Look too hard
And its burning flame
Will always hurt your eyes.

Love
Is a high mountain
Stark in a windy sky.
If you
Would never lose your breath
Do not climb too high.
CF

Love is not love when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the start to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

Smug, self-satisfied smile.
Rictus sardonicus twisting the truth,
Appeasing the old, appealing to youth.
Hand-shaking, head-shaking, hiding behind
The smug self-satisfied smile.
Promises, promises, meaningless rant
Maintaining the can, denying the can’t
Rule-bending, lie-bending, tested and tried
The smug self-satisfied smile.
Blue, green or red, none take the blame
Hirsute or balding, reactions the same.
Sleaze smearing, all-sneering, complacently wide
The smug self-satisfied smile.
Looming election, the campaigning style
Reflects, affects, selects
The smug self-satisfied smile.
CF

(for Flo Stathers)

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters , I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie –
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When fourteen years which nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find – it’s your own affair –
But . . . you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone – wherever it goes – for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to buying Christian clay
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:
For, when depts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long –
So why in – Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

Rudyard Kipling

Just one more day
Before you go away
One more day
To laugh and play

We’ve been friends for so long
Now you’ve gone the world seems so wrong
One more day to hear your song
One voice only can sing that song

One more time I give you flowers
One more day which we talk for hours
If only I had special powers
Then I could buy you many more flowers

As I lay flowers on your chest
I remember our friendship you were the best

One more day to give you flowers
What we had was special it was ours

(In memory of my friend Sally Hall)

Time on earth is running out
As man pollutes the air
Rainforest, Wildlife all extinct
There is no future there
Rivers of blood run deep and wide
Famine, drought and disease
All helped along by mans own hand
With only himself to please
Hunger, thirst, floods and life
We are struggling hard to save
While mans out quenching his desires
His future he will pave
The hardened few who struggle on
To ease this saddened plight
Will live to see another world
Dry, barren, devoid of life . . . .
CF

Rage, rage at the sight of devastation
Violent noise hisses past me as I scrabble to clear bricks.
A child appears from nowhere in shocked disbelief, the chubby legs unsteady.
An arm reaches out but it can no longer touch the small figure, as a column of cement
and dust take the mother’s life away and all is quiet.
Death is quiet
The hissing noise lands somewhere ahead – a building crumbles, rumbles amidst plumes of
dust and smoke to the ground.
Not a soul stirs anywhere, frightening, quiet.
Death is quiet
No one has asked for this, how did it happen? A country taken in violent destruction.
The savagery of one man has torn a country apart and shocked the worlds very soul.
Rage, rage at man. A human form but not a human being. Barbaric, brainless. A killer.
Death is quiet

Ukraine June 2022

Watching winter pools take me to the sea
Carried by the wind sighing feeling free
On the beach alone seabirds circle there above me
Lonely winter day makes me want to stay
There where I belong
Where I am real, where I can feel sounds of the sea

Rivers flowing down streaming in the sand
Shells are tangled in seaweed drifting strands
Pools of silence stem peace is sounding all around me
Lonely winter day makes me want to stay
There where I belong
Where I am real, where I can feel sounds of the sea

Sun sets slowly and night returns once more
Standing by the surf coasting on the shore
Shadows in the night echoes of the sea inside me
Lonely winter day makes me want to stay
There where I belong
Where I am real, where I can feel sounds of the sea

Running hard towards what used to be
Losing ground in changes sliding endlessly
Reaching out for mirrors hidden in the web
Painting lines upon your face inside instead
Sounds so bad the music’s flat on every line
Songs of blackened lace know you’re dying
all the time
Sounds so bad you let the music take your soul
Slipping through the day
Lose the only way you know
Running hard towards what used to be
Losing ground in changes sliding endlessly
Reaching out for things you want to see
Find reflections of insane reality
Running hard towards what used to be
Losing ground in changes sliding endlessly
Reaching out for shadows passing through
See the dark around is coming down on you

Come along with me
Down into the world of seeing
Come and you’ll be free
Take the time to find the feeling

See everything on it’s own
And you’ll find you know the way
And you’ll know the things you’re shown
Owe everything to do the day

See the carpet of the sun
The green grass soft and sweet
Sands upon the shores of time
Of ocean mountain deep
Part of the world that you live in
You are the part that you’re giving

Come into the day
Feel the sunshine warmth around you
Sounds from far away
Music of the love that found you

The seed that you plant today
Tomorrow will be a tree
And living goes on this way
It’s all part of you and me

See the carpet of the sun
The green grass soft and sweet
Sands upon the shores of time
Of ocean mountains deep
Part of the world that you live in
You are the part that you’re giving

Travel the days of freedom
Roads leading everywhere
Come with me now
And show how you care

Follow the dying embers
Cross on the paths they lay
Breath of the past
The earth’s yesterday

Clear your mind, maybe you will find
That the past is still turning
Circles sway, echo yesterday
Ashes, burning, ashes burning

Colours are fading starlight
Silver the way to find
Walking the shadows
There in our mind

Changing the order slowly
Leaving the mist of time
Fingers are holding
Fragments of mine

Clear your mind, maybe you will find
That the past is still turning
Circles sway, echo yesterday
Ashes burning, ashes burning

Imagine the burning embers
They glow below and above
Your sins you won’t remember
And all you’ll find there is love

Ashes are burning brightly
The smoke can be seen from afar
So now you’re seeing how far
Ashes are burning the way

WOODLEIGH
11th June 2010

Beautiful redhead watch where you go, the stream deep and wooded,
follows the contour of fields full of daisies.
In the dark and dank you scamper about.
You know I know this place don’t you?

The urge to move on is magnetic – drawing me.
There is a friend I need to see, to be near.
Your streaked red locks abound with buttercups that surround your handsome face searching for me, anxious and knowing.

Leaving the emerald green grass behind, we make our way by road.
My friend is not far away now.
I shall ignore your disdainful look, better to be with him at the moment
Than frolic with you – be patient.

THURLESTON
12th June 2010

The twisting lanes of Devon be,
as narrow as the eye can see.
Tall the hedgerows, spring is here
decked in wild flowers everywhere.

We sit above the glistening sea,
At Thurleston Rock just Brock and me.
The view is fine we must move on,
We’re soaking up the warm, soft sun.

The sandy shingle beach is ours,
We mess about and walk for hours.
Brock swims in that welcome sea.
I tried myself, brrr, too cold for me.

It’s hard to drag ourselves away,
But time demands we cannot stay.
The tide is rising fast once more,
Our footsteps covered on the shore.

DARTMOOR
13th June 2010

A wild, craggy mysterious place,
full of dark legends that don’t show a face.
Stark raving beauty from woodland to tor,
where wild ponies roam on this beautiful moor

Heather bursts forth on the spring blessed ground,
daisies a-plenty, skylarks abound.
A black raven glints on a rock high above,
the eagle swoops down takes a mouse from the bog.

Summer brings sunshine and rain once again,
refreshing the dust motes in fields that have lain
for the cows, the sheep and for little Bo Peep.

As autumn leaves fall the canvas shows all in
splendiferous colours of gold that unfold.
When the chill whispers in and cold spells begin.
Black is the night, a magical light engulfs
land all around where tin mines are found
buried deep in the ground.

Warreners there be steeped in dark history
frozen forever for no one to see.
In winter the snow makes a breathtaking scene
Such deep, deep snow no moor can be seen.
Remote it appears but it’s my special place
away from it all and the whole human race

START POINT
17th June 2010

To the white lighthouse with the vast Atlantic spread below.
A lone yacht on the far horizon, white sails just visible,
Looking like a child’s toy.
High on the cliffs the sun is gently setting behind me,
Brock scurries around in the grass rubbing his back, legs in the air.
An ode to the joy of just being there.

Beautiful lighthouse, mariners’ friend.
Majestic in presence, a sentinel.
Keeper of the sometimes cruel sea that has claimed lives,
Entire villages in its rage.

Calm sea tonight, perfect light, perfect place.
Where a deep pink sky blends into the sea.
White, bright Start Lighthouse remote and serene.
A sentinel.

When you have acquired a taste for the dust and the scent of our first rain
you’re hooked for life on Africa, and you’ll not be right again.
Until you can watch the setting sun and hear the jackals bark,
and know they are around you waiting in the dark.

When you long to see the elephants or hear the coucal’s song.
When the moonrise sets your blood on fire, then you’ve been away too long.
It is time to cut the traces loose, and let your heart go free,
beyond that far horizon where your spirit yearns to be.

Africa is waiting – come! Since you have touched the open sky
and learned to love the rustling grass and the wild fish eagle’s cry.
You’ll always hunger for the bush; for the lion’s rasping roar.
To camp at last beneath the stars, and to be at peace once more.

Before me the sea swells up, it rises
and comes towards me.
There is a breeze starting now and the calm of the day loses its edge
That pale blue unblemished sky will not be for long.
I feel clouds descending through the mountains.

The window rattles and the faint tinkling of the wind chime
breaks the silence.
Curtains blow and still the clouds come
Swirling, whirling in their mysterious way.

I awake in a very early dawn
And the mist is thick like a blanket over the sea
All around is damp and a cold air creeps in through my door
It is very still and quiet
And I am grateful to be here in this enveloped peace.

Beautiful dreamer somewhere out there
Where do you fly to and what do you care
Wings of fine feathers soaring above
Delighting us all with a passion like love

Miraculous colours appear from nowhere
And perch on our branches and make us all stare
This wondrous breed – what is it? We say!
Is it bright green, dark blue or grey?

Dark is the night and life does not stop –

When my house was alight with golden delight
I crept out and I saw in the dark of that night
A bevy of eyes looking very surprised
The Cape Eagle Owl under lamplight I see
Queuing for crickets as plain as can be

Enraptured was I at this special display
As they took it in turns to feed and to say
I have no fear of you, just look who I am
A beautiful creature, a handsome young man!

Standing out there as bold as could be
Those line up of owls waiting so patiently
In fine pecking order the drill of the night
Those bright golden eyes a magnificent sight

Ode to all our beautiful birds and especially to the Cape Eagle Owl.
Who did indeed make that magnificent display?

I love you like a stream
Flowing restless to the sea
See you like the mist
Touches clouds, touches me
See you in the stars
Wherever you may be
I think of you

If ever you’re near
And have some time to spend
I love you every way
Love you like a friend
And then when you leave
A whisper in my mind
I think of you

When I see a bird
Fly over the sea
And the sun in the sky
Is shining warm and free
And when I feel the wind
Blow cool over me
I think of you

No words can describe these moments in time
So special, so precious
Last night the dark indigo water encircled us with the horizon
Lit up like burning fire, lighting our senses
Capturing our imagination

I am at peace here with you.
Your presence is perpetuating a pulse beat faster than before
Romantic blue skies, white sails in the sunset
The motion of the sensual sea is captivating

At night the stars pour down from the show above
Falling, falling
One shooting star pierces my heart
A warning to tell me I’m one bit in love

We met a long, long time ago
When we were young and new
It was a long, long time ago
But I never forgot you

We have travelled down the byways
Across the seas and back
Climbed the highest mountains
Explored the dusty track

I thought of you quite often
And wondered where you were
And hoped that you were happy
And wished that I was there

A Song

Hold me tonight before I go to sea
Love me tonight and let me be free
As I sail away from your harbour so fair
Wherever I am I will wish I was there.

Oh Cape Town I really love you
Cape Town I really love you

I will dream of the wide open spaces out there
Of high craggy mountains and cool salty air
White sandy beaches with surf you can ride
And red magic sunsets that light up the sky

chorus

Beautiful fynbos and flowers everywhere
Vineyards that stretch across the land
Orchards of fruit that are there for us to share
And animals a plenty close at hand

chorus

The people are charming wherever you go
Bright friendly faces that smile
The children are wonderful and greet you with love
More than anywhere else in the world

chorus

Repeat chorus

This my friend is your great day
I am glad to be with you.
We have travelled many years together
and sung songs.
We have laughed together and drunk fine wine.
We have spoken in great wisdom.
We have cried.
I hope the years ahead are happy for you
And in that happiness you find peace.

What do you know about conscience pray?
When the peace I thought we once had
Was taken in a violent flight of destruction
That tore our hearts apart and shocked our very souls.
Will the light of Christmas be in our minds?
Or will the savagery of violence and broken peace remain?
I will take my African star to guide me through the waters
To dance with the dolphins
At this Christmas time and find my own
Perfect peace.

A novice of the sea
undaunted, undoubtedly was she.
“Buy a boat” that’ll sort the skill-less fix,
add a few lessons on the briny – that’ll do the tricks!

Bobbin’ about in a boat – easy-peasy.
Nothing to it really…..not even queasy!

Competition – that’s the next finishing line.
The Governor’s Cup: a fast knot on a yacht.

Oh well, not first, nor last
but a fair ol’ breeze pushed Allegro mast for mast.

St. Helena – now there’s a spot!
plenty of G & T’s on this great ocean’s dot.

Land legs back, now on with the job.
The Commodore’s lot’s, managing this mob.
The first of a breed – that’s Chris in the role
of Lady Commodore, to one and all!

The mainsail’s up, the spinnaker’s downed,
and so far she’s afloat and no one has drowned!

A great year it’s been from start to end,
but it’s time to weigh anchor me hearties, and friends.
She’ll miss all the banter, the buzz and the braais,
but not all the times she was caught by surprise!

So onwards and to further adventures anew.
Africa waits and the rest of the world too.
Books to be written, places to see,
but whatever she does, wherever she goes,
her love of the ocean has her heart beating free.

Dedicated to my friend Christine Farrington on the occasion of her year 2006-2007 at the helm of False Bay Yacht Club, Simon’s Town, South Africa.

The poet’s copyright assigned to Janette Brown.

I was born in love with you.
You, not yet a twinkle in your fathers’ eye.
Unborn – your destiny was made.
I waited for you.

Before we met I knew you were there.
Being drawn like a magnet to a place I needed to be.
The power burning from behind that closed door
Radiated through my very soul.

You entered my life like a shining star.
Your bright eyes, your lovely smile,
Captivated and lost me forever.
Oh how I love you

A gentle breeze drifts slowly through the trees
The sea ripples softly on the horizon,
The birds sing sweetly, and there is peace, perfect peace.

I walk along the white deserted beach, the sea is blue,
The sea is green, the waves lap playfully around my feet,
And there is peace, perfect peace.

The mountains surround me and make my haven safe
The soft craggy mountains that hold me in
Peace, perfect peace.

Thinking of you as I walked on the moor.
Through the bright yellow gorse, where the wild swaying grasses
bend to the whisper of the wind.
Rushing here, dashing there, following scents everywhere.
That was you dear Brock, that was you my friend.

Shaggy wool sheep stand in your way. I called and you froze.
Wild ponies and foals abounded but you stood still
a look of perplexity upon your sweet face – running here, searching there
nose to the ground everywhere.
That was you dear Brock, that was you my friend.

Gentle rain and we both got wet, but we didn’t care a jot and yet!
It’s part of life and we soldiered on not a care in the world, exploring here
discovering there, head to the future everywhere.
That was you dear Brock. That was you my friend.

Dartmoor

No words can describe these moments in time
So special, so precious
We are sailing in the South Atlantic Ocean
Last night the indigo sea encircled us
The horizon alight with burning fires
Lighting up our senses, capturing our imagination

I am at peace here with you just for the moment
Your presence is perpetuating a pulse beat faster than before
Romantic blue skies, white sails in the sunset
The motion of the sensual sea is captivating

At night the stars pour down from the galaxy
Starlight, star bright – falling, falling
One shooting star drops from above
It pierces my heart
A warning to tell me I’m one bit in love

South Atlantic Ocean 14th February 2013

Waves crash down on the shimmering sand.
Spumeing white horses explode and disband.
The spray whispers across beach and land
Boards float in wait on the icy cold sea
Wait and wait for that elusive wave powerful and majestic
A wave to ride high back to the shore
Tunnel through tunnel then turn back for more
Expectation, exhilaration surf’s up once more

I remember a time long, long ago

At last the long night dawn arrives,
the cold is bitter through and through,
above the threadbare blanket now
my breath curls up to meet the dew.
The body aches the strife is worn
another day of life is born.

I hear the slow clicking clogs go by,
make a sound so dull the pavements cry
the clogs and shawls trudge down the hill
towards the mighty cotton mill.

The lights ablaze the great looms roar
we shout above the noise once more
the shuttles fly from row to row all day long and how
until we hear that whistle blow –
it’s time to stop for now.

The end of week brings light relief, we leave the dark behind
No trudging for the next few days, life suddenly feels quite kind
Bury is the market place where Radcliffe people go
the bright lit shops, the Odeon, the trolleybus and snow
to eat warm black pudding with mustard on
then off to see a show.

Coronation park on Sunday, the very place to be
high on the hill looking down on the mill
gives a huge sense of pride which is hard to disguise
when you’re all dressed up to kill
we pout and we preen as we want to be seen
in our very best clothes, what’s more
It is no matter now to us one small jot
if we are one of the rich or the poor

Then I hear a bird sing as it flies on the wing, away, away over the hill
One day I will go, I’ll come back and I’ll show them
that there is life beyond Radcliffe Mill

When life touches us we are but a fragile creature
The wind and the rain fall upon us and we shrivel away
An illness sanctifies us being alive
And the drudge of work every day
Keeps us from going into that forgotten land

Our hearts rise and fall at each mercurial change
O! For the gladness of winning
O! For the sadness of losing
A birth brings the smile of a Cheshire cat grin
While the death of a loved one hurts to the very core

The sun shines and strength appears
Vigor we had almost once forgotten
The moon and the stars shine brightly
Wild flowers in the hedgerows burst forth in gentle bloom
With a fragrance that fills our senses

To see the sea in all its outrageous glory
The power and the strength
And to know the life that lives within it
Full, so full of wondrous creatures
A beautiful and natural world.

Whimsical Widgeon the cat about town
where is he off to tonight.
Stalking the street like a cop on the beat,
whirling his tail at a mouse or a snail.
Old Mr Fat Rat appears on the scene,
twitching his whiskers
and feeling supreme
he’s a mighty fine rat that ever has been.

Whimsical Widgeon serene and sublime
thinks Mr Fat Rat would do him just fine.
Old Mr Fat Rat has other ideas
the cat about town he has known many years.
He once was a kitten so sweet and so small
that he made Mr. Fat Rat seem awfully tall.
The moral of this is the cat wants the rat,
but the rat loves the cat
and that’s that.