Poetry

A short poem of personal reconciliation

LONG SHADOWS

A blackbird sang upon a wire

A song as old as time

Beneath him crept a callow youth

Bereft of thought or rhyme

With gun in hand the prize was near

No conscience lived to heed

Led by his new born rottenness

The hunter drew a bead

And with a crack the songster fell

His last notes echoed by

An aged witness boding close

Demanded “young man why?”

Of course there was no answer

Cold blooded was the plan

Oft looking back I curse the days

Before I was a man.

S.A.D. isn’t it?

EPITAPH OF THE LIGHT

I shall not weep by a shrouded moon

when winters veil is drawn,

nor vengeful sit neath bitter boughs

until the frozen dawn.

For I will take me to my bed

and dream the suns kind touch

for fear won’t take the dark away

that cloak I loathe so much.

And when I rise from sleeps safe bower

to greet the precious light

I’ll know that with each passing hour

short lived will be the night.

The other woman

EQUINOX

The passing of the seasons is all things to all men.

Autumn softens the blow of goodbye, winter has few friends, and all hail the spring.

I liken the passing of summer as being deserted by a lover and though grievously hurt I understand why she has gone.

I have been wrapped in the arms of nature and scented her perfume, glorious in its complexity; her warmth has been to bathe in heaven her kiss the earth’s ransom.

On the night of the last full moon I said farewell and trod the silver footpath home amid the palms of shadow and blessed her creation, I would not dream of better and slept alone.

 

Eve’s one off …..

THE SEX TOURIST

A dark skinned baby scans the sky

Watching vapour trails pass by

A hungry belly aches again

A wilting crop waits for the rain

A dreamer sits in seat thirteen

Hoping that she was not seen

A dark skinned youth

Flicks through his pay

As rich sweet dreamer flies away.

Who prays and who doesn’t?                  THE REDUNDANT CHURCH

I sat in a redundant church abandoned near the sea

All around I saw decay it shouted out to me

Where is your soul where is desire what is your destiny.

 

At once a congregation thronged into that sacred place

A ghostly crowd from yesterday appeared before my face

They could not know my loneliness or contemplate a time

That hallowed house fell silent of their offerings sublime.

 

Did I see a congregation filing in that day

Or hear those blessed songs of praise a hundred years away

Had I felt that spectres touch a breath upon my skin

Did I smell that Sunday perfume as they gathered in.

 

Was I not a stranger sitting in their midst

Was I not in the rising dust that the sunlight kissed

Was I not a figment of a distant thinkers mind

As the centuries come between us was she thinking of my kind.

 

Will that temple last forever is it empty just today

Is a future congregation like a wave upon its way

Will tides that ebbed so long ago from Gods deserted shore

Return again go crashing in and fill that place once more.

Is the gnashing of teeth upon us …..

INTEGRITY

The scything Gnomon fells the hours

As stalks of time are cut

Then stacked upon the reapers rick

The days of men are put.

Such providence derived of this

To slake the winters ire

Is testament to husbandry

And testate of desire.

Those wasted hours of idleness

Like maggots eat the flesh

And rotten squandered days will breed

Of ill and want afresh.

When brow born sweat stings eye and soul

And prayers for mercy call

For peace from pain for help from God

The winter levels all.

So thus it is from birth till death

Choose who has done his best

His corpse will lie in hallowed soil

And with the idle rest.

MEMORIES OF A BETTER DAY

Dashing footsteps by the shore

Tiny footprints washed away

Treasured sea shells in a drawer

Are memories of a better day

Distant laughter on the breeze

Squeals of childish ecstasy

If all I ever know are these

Then God has done His best for me.

—-

No crowds, no garish entertainment just the family and nature.

A WOLF AT THE HEARTH

What demons haunt the howling tune?

When hounds sing songs beneath the moon

 What memories rise from depths within?

As mournful cries of yore begin

 Who knows the spirit cast around?

That chills the blood with ancient sound.

 

11 thoughts on “Poetry

  • Spent quite a while reading your words and trying to find any faults with the website layout.
    Your words as always are very thought provoking and enjoyable to read.
    Any initial problems with the technicalities of the website layout on the iPad compatibility side appear to have been addressed and does not distract from the content.
    Keep up the good work, hope you get many readers.
    Ian.

  • The actual website thedavidotter.com ia available even though Google says it isn’t due to the sites robots–do they mean you ?
    Otherwise the site is fine with poems which can only be described as gems .
    Google also lists sites of the same name which I don’t understand and are almost gobbledegook to me .

  • David I have really enjoyed reading the poems comments and observations. I was deeply impressed and not sure why i was so surprised. Thank you for directing me to this site.
    Regards Julia

  • Hi, David, it was a pleasure staying with you and hope my granddaughter’s presence passed without any negative comment! I enjoyed your observations and poems and feel that they resonate with me as a person of a certain age. We are a blessed generation born after the horrors of the Depression and the World Wars, in which our parents faced unbelievable hardships but just made do and worked hard. We were freely educated in a way our parents could never have been, had good and relatively easy lives and what have we done with it but continue to be avaricious and mindlessly careless with the planet as you point out? I Like your poem memories of a better day, I find myself reflecting, and reminding myself to stop and be thankful for what I have and have experienced at least once a day. That although my selfish desires for children who would be lawyers and doctors etc may not have been fulfilled, that they have provided me with the completely nonjudgmental love of 7 grandchildren, though one sadly died, for which I could never be more grateful. They say life’s a bitch and then you die, which is true in some ways, but if we just take that moment to stop and stare rather than wishing our lives away thinking we need stuff we could enjoy the place instead of destroying it. Nice to meet you and hope to pass through again sans grandkids! David

  • Hi David really enjoyed our weekend with you and your stories, found your thoughts and poems very interesting, thanks for a great few days and hopefully will see you soon.
    All the best Joy & Gil Buckley.

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