Unfettered Dreams
Perhaps artists thrive on unfettered dreams,
But the trappings of work and career schemes,
Clip the wings of the need to create things,
So I ponder my world and its extremes,
I think, to me, life’s necessities seem,
Much like tying weights to a Peregrine.
Loving You
Loving you is easy,
like breathing,
A requirement
of my life.
This land of me
All I am is in this space,
The universe sits within my mind,
Projections from my eyes,
And beyond this country of me,
Everything is wilderness,
And other lands,
To explore with my senses,
To taste, to see,
To hear, to feel, to smell,
To touch,
To make alliances with,
But I remain an exile,
And independent,
In my own land,
I am an island,
And once gone,
I may be remembered,
As a beautiful country,
In images left,
With those lands,
I have loved.
Photographs
Looking at photographs,
of stages of your life,
is just an aide memoir,
to what really was.
Each picture has smiles,
at worst a frown against the sun,
sunny days all,
reflected in a lens.
I look at the eyes,
of every me,
of every them,
and wonder what thoughts there were.
Mine I can remember,
that aide memoir works
its magic.
I remember sadness in some,
yet gurn for the camera.
Why do we do that?
So many people,
all gone,
even those still alive.
But that is it;
we smile back at the images,
those wraiths gazing from the past,
each giving a picture of joy,
hiding their troubles
behind a smile.
I love them all for that kindness.
Lone child
Placed in a world
full of traps,
the boy wondered
“Who will help?”
And none came.
He was victim
and protector,
with no weapon
but hard learning –
Adults hid behind God.
And the pain of growing
scared of God-threats
and starved of love,
protecting a brother,
made him, at ten, an old warrior.
For faith was a dragon
fearsome and hungry
and freedom lay
beyond its realm.
And the child finally said
“You will die!”
The child did not break,
his armour was thought,
Knowledge,
questions unanswered
and answers found,
and this sword was all.
This man forged himself
and is an old soldier,
though one gap remains:
he is still a child,
and stands all alone
too scared not to fight.
He is what he is,
Unable to alter,
Open to wounds,
but he’ll never fall,
He fights as a man,
to protect the lone child,
betrayed, yet he lives
the battle goes on.
Eulogy for Harry-the-Dog
When I met Harry he was only a dog,
I was but a smell, new, interesting, male.
The previous male had kicked him,
I made funny noises and dropped food,
Belly up, Harry let me know I was alpha.
We became firm friends after two years,
Inseparable after four, complete after five.
Our walks were adventures full of wonder,
Smells, sounds,
Movements to watch,
Movements to stalk – both,
One as a dog, one as a man.
Harry became Harry-the-Dog,
Became a cartoon with me, both characters,
The cartoons became us,
Me the fool, Harry-the-Dog.
Our final three years became comfort,
Writ large,
Warmth in sadness, reassurance.
We looked older, greyer, sadder,
Shouted at, lone sleeping companions.
Harry’s Walk was our salvation,
He could laugh, joke, grin, grumble.
Just like me. Like me the man.
We were friends, one, knew each other so well.
We were broken apart.
They left, he torn, our smells combined,
His scent here with me, his life elsewhere.
Kindness let him go. Cruelty to me.
I missed him, miss him still.
Harry-the-Dog was a good friend,
We were one pair, one smell, one pack of two.
I was alpha – so was he.
Harry’s Walk is ours alone.
Forever.
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