Too Late. 

See, my hands are very small:

I use the backs of them

To rub my eyes. 

I didn't realise I would grow

And have to become someone,

Divided and rejected. 

All these whirling minds

As sharp as stars,

But out of sync. 

I couldn't open my book

Until too old and nearly gone,

Now, I begin to read. 

See, my wormy thumbs

Have revealed two leaves

For me to contemplate. 

The first tells of the disconnect

Between rocks and moon,

I feel heavy with guilt. 

The second has coloured in my heart:

I recognise it,

My face burns.

 

 

The Search  

What are you doing down there?

I'm looking for something.

Is it lost?

It is not yet found. 

Might I help you search the quiet?

Yes, please close your eyes.

How long will it take?

We cannot know. 

Are you sure that it is missing?

There is a space abandoned.

Will you try somewhere else?

Here may be very close. 

You seem to hesitate.

There is a faint aroma of honeysuckle.

What is that to you?

A connection. 

Shall I now close the door?

My bones are secure beneath the silt.

Then I will leave.

Yes, thank you, and thank them all.

Year 1 

Curling fern toes

Cheery star fingers

Without agenda

Signing to the world. 

Insistent helplessness

Secure that neither

Cry nor fault

Will deter protection. 

And who would betray that trust

When reward offers no object?

Not the red eyed mother,

Up with the moon.

 

 

The Descent

There used to be a road

That lead into the bay,

It is long forgotten now:

No one comes this way.

The water was green

Of a deep dark hue,

As if Satan

Had mixed the yellow and the blue.

Arriving in the night

Under a full and orange moon,

Taking each their place

Around that sombre lagoon.

A thousand years they stood,

Child, woman and man,

Waiting for the answer

As to why this all began.

On the day the bay was empty

The people commenced to move,

Holding hands they spiralled down

Into that unholy groove.

Each leaving their bones

To show they'd ever been.

In little heaps around the edge

Where water had lapped so green.

The level now restored,

It just required time,

And these small heaps have turned

Into humps of moss and slime.  

In-severable 

The end of light had come,

Blackness fell without a sound,

Replacing shadows and glints,

To which all are bound. 

Then he called across the waves,

Then he called across the plains,

Then he called through valleys,

Deeply scored in gritted earth. 

"What am I to do now that you have gone?"

Whilst he hung his head,

In sorrow and despair,

A soft and familiar voice,

Answered as a prayer. 

"As you say I've lost my life, yet,

I will remain should you not forget,

And things you saw with open eye,

You now may view with closed,

And passions vigorous with fire,

Can continue in repose.

But you have our young to grow,

Across years yet to come,

So lock me fast as when alive,

And take me home again." 

Often he would return,

To a place of empty sun,

Speaking with marble lips,

With whom his life begun. 

As she said their young did thrive,

Through their eyes she shone on him,

Till time called each away,

And the coat of purpose wore too thin.

Then to the strand one night he came,

And whispered across the depths,

That he was tired of internal sighs,

Could she give one last caress.  

"I am dying," he said aloud

"Then die my love and fall."

 

He sank upon his knees,

Then gently folded into the tide,

Which cared not to avoid him,

But rolled him side on side. 

When the light woke the day,

And water returned to ground,

Two people had died on that night,

But only one body found.

                                                              © 2013Connie's Words

Escorted to Oblivion.  

They came through here yesterday.

Did you see their faces?

Mist quietly parted. 

They moved as best they could.

Did you hear their words?

Leaves spiralled down.

They swayed as snakes in water.

Did you smell their anger?

Some still carried hope.

Their shepherd's soul had perished.

Did you taste their tears?

Their hollowness quivered. 

They were turning from wood to stone.

Did you feel their love?

Mist rolled back.

                                                              © 2014Connie's Words

Cold Lake.  

Holding tightly her hand
Crossing into forbidden land

She had found the only gate

Of love in a wall of hate. 

So the escape began

Of last woman and man,

Would it be death or life

Cutting cords with destiny's knife? 

Stinking pools of disease

Were shunned, and pleased

With their clever dream

Stronger grew the desperate scheme. 

Fording through the hundredth stream

Scorched clay becoming green

Secure enough to steal some rest

She lay her head upon his breast. 

In that breast beat a rhyme

Connecting ancient to modern time.

Echoing in it's ribbed house of care

All delusions that two might share. 

In that night their rippled breath

Eclipsed the calm mirror of death.

In a treason sleep the two were found

And with ambition securely bound.

 

                                                                                                                        © 2014Connie's Words

Just back from London, where Rosa set me up with this BlogSpot. I hope to post some of my work soon.