Baby’s way

If baby only wanted to, he could fly up to heaven this moment.
It is not for nothing that he does not leave us.
He loves to rest his head on mother’s bosom, and cannot ever bear to lose sight of her.
Baby know all manner of wise words, though few on earth can understand their meaning.
It is [...]

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Frog Haiku

I hop, skip and jump
I love my freedom, thank you.
Please leave me alone!

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I’d like to try my hand at poetry

I’d like to try my hand at poetry;
make the words drip onto the page
from the awkward pen
in my crabby left hand.
Fractured rhythm, stuttering rhyme,
iambic meter, vodka with lime.
How does one start?
Does one wait for a burst?
Is it an insane thirst?
Or does one have to plot and scheme,
a Machiavellian dream.
First the idea, the sketch,
then the torrent.
Or [...]

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The Lark Ascending

He rises and begins to round,
He drops the silver chain of sound,
Of many links without a break,
In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake.
 
For singing till his heaven fills,
‘Tis love of earth that he instils,
And ever winging up and up,
Our valley is his golden cup,
And he the wine which overflows
To lift us with him when he goes.
 
Till [...]

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I Cry

I cry because I have a wound that won’t heal
I cry because I am fighting a battle I have already lost
I cry because there is no ray of light
I cry because people are dying
I cry because there is no-one to turn to
I cry because I am bleeding
I cry because my voice is silent
I cry because [...]

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An ode to Goa, from Luis

No, not this Luis.
This is Luís de Camões, the celebrated bard from Portugal in the 16th century, best known for his epic Os Lusiadas.
Here is an extract of this work, translated into the English:
What glorious palms of Goa’s isle I see!
Their blossoms spread, great Albuquerk, for thee!
Through castled walls the hero breaks his way
And opens [...]

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Night Mail
—WH Auden
This is the Night Mail crossing the border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner and the girl next door.
Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient’s against her, but she’s on time.
Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,
Snorting noisily as [...]

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The Patience of Ordinary Things
by Pat Schneider

It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they’re supposed to be.
I’ve been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And [...]

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