Poem 88: The stream that flows near my house

The stream that flows near my house
comes from goodness knows where
and goes to goodness knows where.

I never visit it with dull skies,
but some days when sparkles shake the water
the dog takes a bath.

Has the stream perhaps scampered passed death;
a wild pig’s corpse
or maybe a tatty rotting bird?

Has it greeted fish of every sort;
eels and trout,
and cockerbullies* cowering in caverns?

Have the rough, rocky tumbles
bestowed both cheer and fear
on this joyful jolly journeyman jongleur?

Today I see it hubbubs happily on,
forgiving its past
and singing only of tomorrow’s adventures.

* Small New Zealand freshwater fish.

 

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

Poem 74: From the top of the hill on Good Friday

(This poem continues my decision this month to post poems I wrote fifty plus years ago – this week’s poem was written around about when I was 17.)

The hills cringed green, blood-green.
They were thorn-throbbed, twisted; silent down a
Crumpled valley, torn green to the sea
Where two ships lay silvered and
Waiting for another. And on,
On where the ocean turned with the sky
Clouds jarred to royal purple with the mountains.
The air too choked thin and weak as the
Sun sank crippled at three o’clock.

Is there something here which does not pass?
Answer!
Is there something here which does not pass?
Is there nothing still?

I went down the hill and
Wrote what past I had before it fled.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

1073. Viewing one’s life

Harvey had, as is the lot of every human, passed on. To his astonishment there was some sort of continuing existence, and he discovered that if he travelled out into space far enough he could watch himself in the different stages of his life. It was all to do with the speed of light and watching that light present images of his past as it sped through space and so on…

There’s Harvey now, watching himself as a toddler. He’s crawling through a field of tall grass. Oh isn’t he so cute? So adorable!

And there is Harvey now, at his wedding. What a magnificent wedding it was! He can move unseen among the guests and hear their comments:

“God Milly, I’ve never been to such a boring wedding. What an old fart that preacher man was.”

Oh well… and here’s Harvey simply walking down the street when he was about 52.

It’s so fascinating viewing one’s life as if in a movie. Harvey’s been doing it now for 472 years. He’s obsessed with himself. He hates it but he can’t drag himself away.