The Gift.

I have laboured on this my gift to you.

I hope you will love it and delight

In its great, wide, blue and beautiful sky,

Its grandeur of studded velvet night,

The mysterious trackless expanse of sea,

The surf that surges upon the sand,

The billowing blue black of tumbling cloud,

The fall of healing rain upon the land.

I have laboured on this my gift to you.

And entrust into your care

A teeming abundance of sentient things,

Creatures with whom this gift you share:

Colourful birds that float, flit or soar;

Dolphins that play in the surging wave;

The diligent ant, the lion’s great roar;

Bats that pour from darkness of cave.

I have laboured on this my gift to you:

Fruit that hangs from the boughs of trees,

Moss covered rock, dew laden fern,

Seed that floats on the scattering breeze,

Towering trees that in thick rainforest grow,

Flowers for beauty and the honey bee,

Tendrils that emerge from the mountain snow,

Forests that sway and grow beneath the sea.

Thank you.

Yes, it is indeed very beautiful.

And here is what we will do.

We will grasp it to ourselves.

We will fight over the largest share.

We will invent weapons to enforce our will.

We will eliminate species in our rush for gain.

Billions will die in this quest for more.

We will burrow deep into its core,

Level mountains, gouge huge holes,

Burn whole continents of forests,

Pour our waste into the ocean, pollute the sky

In our reckless, insatiable quest for more.

We will pursue knowledge

In our own limited, blinkered way

Until finally, puffed up by pride and conceit,

We will deny that you have ever existed

For we will be too advanced to need you anymore.

But perhaps, just perhaps,

When a merciless sun relentlessly shines,

The polar caps melt, the sea rises,

When in stifling heat we struggle and gasp for breath,

When our numbers have grown beyond our control

When we have plundered so deeply that it seems there is no more-

At that time we will feel small, vulnerable and human,

When problems beyond our ken in bewilderment mount,

When the future seems bleak, hopeless and lost,

And in sad desperation we will then cry out to you.

Will you then hear our voice?

Two sonnets

Here are two poems previously written in quatrains which, for various reasons, I have rewritten as sonnets.

Shards of Light.

Approaching night led me darkly down

Labyrinthine corridors, through countless doors

To ones long unopened, near forgotten,

And there in strange anxiety pause.

Some doors were old, their hinges rusty,

I had to push and shove and prise

At lock, handle and heavy weight

Before they creaked open before my eyes.

O strange paradox that blackness reveals!

How out of darkness shine shards of light;

Shards - friendship, family, faith and love-

More clearly discernible in the night.

O shards of light! Darkness reveals your shine!

Shards of light richly sustaining this life of mine!

A dew drop before the rising sun

This life is brief, a breath, a vapour,

A dew drop before the rising sun,

A fleeting appearing of the mist,

Disappearing before it has hardly begun.

For a moment in the shining sun

The refracting light will sparkle and dance;

Then before the rising heat

It disappears into the sky’s expanse.

But what is that insistent music

From the velvet, star studded sky?

Do the stars sing of an eternal power?

Is a personal God enthroned on high?

The body groans in sad mortality.

Can the mind hope for vast eternity?

I Came to a Window.

As in a dream I came to a window,

Peered into it hard and long,

Saw black hair, laughter and joy,

Heard the rhythms of youth’s bright song.

And staring deeper in that trance I saw

Bright black hair turn dull and grey,

And caught in the physical tyranny of time

The bloom of youth fade far away.

Words then came softly to my ear:

“Youth’s dew drop moment cannot last;

But for its grace raise your voice and sing

Knowing that it will all too swiftly pass.”

A pause, and then the voice began again:

“The outward bloom quickly fades away

But do not be sad and do not mourn;

The inner self grows each passing day.

“Youth has beauty in its shining hair;

Age has beauty of a different kind:

Awareness, knowledge, a sense of choice,

A deeper, wiser, more reflective mind.

“Now listen carefully,” the voice now said, 

“The greatest beauty lies deeper still:

In character developed piece by piece

Through revelation and resolve’s strong will.”

The vision faded, the dream was gone,

The window was no longer near,

But as I turned I thought upon

Eyes old and dim or young and clear,

Thought on knowledge that comes with years,

On the characteristics of the wise,

On beauteous things we should most desire,

On how character shines in older eyes.

And went then from that dreamlike place

Beginning at last to comprehend

A deeper and more abiding truth:

A beauty of mind can the years transcend.

Visitation.

            For Diana.

In the early dawn I felt a touch,

Heard a soft voice whisper “Come”;

A pause and then that voice again:

“Your race you have now run”.

I shook my head, withdrew my hand,

I weakly whispered no.

How can I leave this woman

Sitting quietly by the window?

O Mr Death I cannot come!

Gaze upon this sweet vignette:

Morning’s growing light is

Softly framing her silhouette.

She and I have things to do,

Loving not yet completed,

So now I hear my own voice vow

“I will not by you be defeated.”

When you some other time return

I must indeed merely follow

And so doing say goodbye to this

Quintessence of joy and sorrow.

But now I feel the warmth of her touch

Make your cold grip fall away,

And weakly turning towards the light

I embrace once more the coming day.