Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years,
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow
Claspest the limits of mortality,
And sick of prey, yet howling on for more,
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore;
Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm,
Who shall put forth on thee,
Unfathomable Sea?
......
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale tit,
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
......
and the gulf enters the sea and so forth,
none of them emptying anything,
all of them carrying yesterday
forever on their white tipped backs,
all of them dragging forward tomorrow.
it is the great circulation
of the earth's body, like the blood
of the gods, this river in which the past
is always flowing. every water
is the same water coming round.
......
When Mother divorced you, we were glad. She took it and
took it in silence, all those years and then
kicked you out, suddenly, and her
kids loved it. Then you were fired, and we
grinned inside, the way people grinned when
Nixon's helicopter lifted off the South
Lawn for the last time. We were tickled
to think of your office taken away,
your secretaries taken away,
your lunches with three double bourbons,
......
I do not ask for youth, nor for delay
in the rising of time's irreversible river
that takes the jewelled arc of the waterfall
in which I glimpse, minute by glinting minute,
all that I have and all I am always losing
as sunlight lights each drop fast, fast falling.
I do not dream that you, young again,
might come to me darkly in love's green darkness
where the dust of the bracken spices the air
......
Just wait
When did you ever get
So fast.
Days used to take time,
Weeks had beginnings, middles,
......
The passing of time is a curious thing,
It ebbs and flows like a restless sea,
And yet, it moves us forward, like a king.
In youth, we long for the days of spring,
When life is new and our hearts are free,
The passing of time is a curious thing.
As we grow older, we spread our wings,
And set out on paths we long to see,
......
Purple tinged late night
Vague shadows dance with the wind
and trees are silent
Secret undercover scents
wander near the still mountains
Golds reds and creams in
meadows of wildflower dreams
beside flowing brooks
The golden days are waiting
......
I was a famous, learned historian, living a good life in prevalent today;
As vast, grey clouds must move on, once wild storms are swept away.
I spent many golden days and plum evenings, perusing historical books,
Like a nature lover, passing lovely green hills, is casting backward looks.
I lived my life of vivid, probable future, waltzing with a prosperous past;
As sun and moon meet in rouge, dawn skies, just for the lively contrast!
I had written several bestselling books, on academic, engrossing topics,
......
Tranquil, pearly moon arises, at the tangerine end of the memorable day,
Just like the ones we knew back when, until golden time was swept away.
Dressed up people laugh somewhere, very eager for a night on the town,
When the resplendent moon is wearing, twinkling diamonds in her crown.
And far-off planets are peering, in the vibrant hues of blue, beige and red,
A sign peaceful night is already dreaming, like hued flowers in their beds.
The breezes have grown gentle, from a continuous roar, to awed whisper,
......