Marriage – a poem

‘The Wind’ by C Dale Young is a haunting poem. In this poem I plagiarize by taking the first line of each stanza of ‘The Wind’ (at times modified slightly) and work it into my own interpretation called ‘Marriage’. I wanted to post a link to C Dale Young’s poem that you could read it but I couldn’t find one, so if any of my readers requests it I’ll post it here. I refrain from doing so now as I don’t want to be compared with a master like C Dale Young.

But I was afraid then. I remember still
menacing water on my face,
my anguish, as I lost my grip on the shore.
Where were you, partner, when I stepped in
alone, to brave the salty deeps,
abandoned, to my frigid fear?

Unlike you I was lit by panic then,
waves sucked me into their embrace,
Could I yell for help?
Many were there immobile, impassive
but you mouthed ‘I love you’.
Then, you told me that

there shall be no fear. But I was afraid.
Yesterday I watched my friend
walk the same path to the vows altar.
I heard her dismayed cry as
her craft swirled on wild waters.
The current spun her fast, she

who has only just learned to be carried by it.
Do not shrug, I need you beside
to brave life’s treacherous eddies
Together we sail swirling seas to eternity.
I need you to buoy me up,
To save me; you, who keep my heart

in your rooms. Now, the old man says
we must face life together,
what God joined no man shall
put asunder. The lifeboat of union
needs two at the oars.
You and I together, for a third.

But this, this final step … Do not laugh.
when a child joins us in the
waxing and waning of life. We are bound,
watertight, as a deft dry family
rowing serenely over the expanse,
hereafter, to never dive alone.

My Grandfather Clock – a poem


My grandfather’s grandfather clock,
Thirty decades of tick tock, tick tock,
He and I together for fifty years,
A separation would bring me tears.
Pulsating heart regular going,
Brass pendulum to-ing and fro-ing.

Three hundred and sixty beats of time,
Then for the hour, a sliver chime.
Seven feet of walnut veneer case
Seraphs carved onto his shiny face.
His slender minute and hour hands,
Pointing precise their indexing wands.

In Queen Anne’s reign he had his birth,
That’s when he began to show his worth.
Maker Bradley sired his sib at St Paul’s,
But my clock did his work in men’s halls.
Moon faces revolve to tell the tide,
Fording the Thames, such a useful guide.

Weekly I open his glass case,
To push a key into his face.
Gentle, gentle I am kind,
Yet he sobs and sighs as I wind.
I check to see nothing is wrong
Life blood of families here and gone

As I pass by him, my hand I glide,
To wistful, touch his sleek glowing side.
Glance at his face, the time to tell,
Confirming moments I know so well.
Alone, a child I’d quietly lie,
And count when the long hours pass’d by

He is not a recorder or judge
He keeps no inventory or grudge
Time pulsating by in clicks and gongs
Time akin to the beat of men’s songs
Time paced towards death, an end for me
I hope he ticks on for eternity.

The Miracle of the Lily – a poem


This year my amaryllises are early. Each year their loveliness astonishes me and I wonder how so much beauty can come out of a simple bulb which looks like a large union. I have many varieties but the first bloom is always a traditional common single-headed flower as I photographed this morning.

Mix together dirt,
Water, fresh air,
One fist-sized bulb
And bathe in sunlight.
No scientist can replicate
This simple formula.

Result, a fat green shoot,
Miraculously rising.
Eureka, it bursts open,
Heads of Amaryllis color.
Four exquisite blooms,
Delicate membranes shimmer.

This lily a tiny thread
Of the globe’s fabric
Glory to surpass Solomon.
In it, the pure hand of creation,
As it is a million times a second,
Everywhere on our beautiful earth.