In Memoriam

This little poem is another previously unpublished gem. After looking at some old family photos in recent posts it seems appropriate here.

In Memoriam

Gothic shaped headstones,
Lichen covered last laments,
Wasteland of weeds,
Long lost sentiments.
Here among brambles,
Leaves, knee high grass,
Memories though etched in stone
Are as windblown chaff.

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Evening On A Cliff Top

I love the sentiment of this undated and previously unpublished short poem.

Evening On A Cliff Top

The sun sinks down behind the hill,
Everything is quiet and still.
The noises of the day have ceased,
All around is wrapped by a tranquil peace.
Even the rocks, which daylight shows so stark,
Are rounded to a softer shape
And seem hunched up in sleep,
Waiting for tomorrow’s dawn to break.
And I, sitting on the cliff tops on my own
Am cradled by the silence of the evening,
And feel forever humbled by the age of Nature’s throne.

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The Poacher Ferret

This short poem, which once again demonstrates Jack’s philosophy about nature, has no date and has not been published before.

The Poacher Ferret

Fascinatingly lethal
Deceitfully tame
Needing no master
Feeling no blame
Doing what needs
Fitting the plan
           Rules by nature
           Events by man.

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The Mountain

Jack initially submitted this poem to The National Poetry Foundation in 1988.  After receiving a critique of the poem from the Foundation he polished it some more and re-submitted it in 1989.  It was then accepted towards the collection of his work that was unfortunately never published.

The Mountain

The mountain is warm and calm today. Sheep
Graze its greener slopes – warm beating hearts
Scurry and fret under a colourful apron
Of heather and bracken – but the rocks,
Giant ruminating rocks prevail.

Winding, almost turning back on itself,
Distant in a heavy haze of ling the path
Spills headlong, rushing like a stream
To where I stand. With soaring head and
Heart I start to climb as far as fancy takes.

Up here on the mountain there is truth.
Sweet unfettered winds of honesty blow
Across purple tremulous heather, and
Huge indulgent boulders soak up time
In a dense effortless silence.

I sit awash in a cathedral calm
While a soaring minstrel lark, a bubbling
Free spirit, feathered the sky with its song,
So in harmony with its surroundings
I could still hear the silence breathing.

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Untitled Poem

The following short poem Jack simply called “Untitled”.  It is previously unpublished.

Untitled

In a world of maybe and not quite,
Where truth is but a point of view
Blown about on the winds of scepticism,
The strong have their touchstone to survive.

Most of us will rally round some
Opportunist banner and shout Hosanna.

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The Moth

This little verse, undated and previously unpublished, is simplicity itself, but doesn’t it make you think? 

The Moth 

Frozen, spread-winged it died,
Staring in on my cosiness.
The casual acceptance of death
Mocking my sophistication
With its simplicity.

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Autumn Tumblers

This little poem, written around 1988 but unpublished until now, seems to me to capture the delight of the falling autumn leaves. You can really see them blowing about!

Autumn Tumblers

See! The tumbling rustling leaves,
Brown, gold, fading green,
Jostled, bustled by the wind.
A gusty boisterous whirl,
Toss and swirl of infectious flippancy.

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My Birthright

Jack lived all his life in the Fulshaw area of Wilmslow, Cheshire (UK), at four different addresses in South Oak Lane and then later a short distance away in a retirement apartment in Gravel Lane.  This short poem, undated and previously unpublished, tells us how he felt about his “patch”.

My Birthright

This is my patch,
Here I was born.
Four lanes forming a square.
I toddled round them
Holding Mum’s hand.
Boundaries of my world.

Little has changed,
I am still here.
The fabric, more mellow,
Fits like an old coat.
I hold no deeds,
I have laid my scent,
I belong.

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Sonnet to an Egotist

Jack wrote this poem around 1988.  Strictly speaking, although it is fourteen lines long, it is not really a Sonnet.  However, today I offer the poem for your enjoyment. Next time we will look at the definition of a Sonnet and hopefully generate some discussion.

 

Sonnet to an Egotist

Another summer almost gone,
White clouds breeze blown across blue skies,
Trailed wispy fronds of memories
Veiled locket for the inward eye.
How long and hot the summers seemed
When we were young, so good at play,
Ah! Yesterday when we were young
A solo waiting to be sung.
The virgin treble voice rang out
So clear, so pure it pierced my shield,
Then to myself I am revealed
A sham, a shame faced egotist
Who hides behind a placid face
And scans the heavens in disgrace.

 

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Enemy Within

Here is another of Jack’s little gems. It is undated as it has never been submitted for publication before.

Enemy Within

I welcome the velvet touch of darkness,
When reality’s hard edges soften
In the calm imagery of the night.

I welcome the honest face of the dawn
When daylight expands truth across the sky,
Banishing night’s cradle of illusion.

But I fear the lonely wintry dusk
Masking truth in misty subversive doubt,
And the night cannot reach my outstretched hands.
Then I am alone with my greatest foe,
The enemy within.

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