Poems From a Life
A Book of Poetry by
Des Greene
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Des Greene
Discover other titles by Des Greene
at www.desgreene.com
Novels previously published are:
About Time
Couples
The Island
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The Old Mill
Down by the river it stood,
The old mill.
The water wheel now retired.
Grey walls of stone at war
With the onslaught of green ivy.
A lonely specter,
Battle worn by the years,
Unable to tell the world of its mysteries.
Why not raze it to the ground?
Its function well served.
Why not let it die?
But all who saw it
Were struck with respect and wonder
And left well-enough alone.
So now it still stands there,
A definite part of the landscape,
A part of the whole.
Some day it will be gone
And none will appreciate its being
But will look at grey spires
Or whatever, and think –
Why not let them die?
As did the old mill.
9/11
9/11 - almost past the hour
Towers are due to fall
Crumbling like caked flour
Awakening a new day
Glorious to behold and dwell
On life’s glories
Nature’s hidden stories
Of death and rebirth
Of light transformed
To earth, sky and the new norm
Fifteen billion years or so
To get thus far
A falling mass of steel and rubble
Forming a morbid mound
That will take the same long ages
To sculpt - into a new beginning
In uncertain faltering stages
A bright future from tawdry wreckage
Somewhere, someplace, someone
Stares at a dark wall
The gloom will envelop him
While outside many of his brothers will fall.
The Wanderer
Whistling a lonely tune
Towards the valley below
All steeped in mist.
How the rain excites the melancholy!
Grass verges sparkle with water drops
And the stony road descends.
A siren calls and somewhere a fire blazes.
Cobble stone streets with many eyes,
The rectangular windows of cottages,
Draped with creamy aged lace,
That belie the life within.
Wandering mongrels and the odd cat
In dirt pools sip of life’s liquid.
Rap on a wooden door.
Paint in flakes falls with rain
And noise startles dogs and cat
And recedes to leave a void.
Again and again.
No reply but the creak of wood.
Dreary is the coming of evening
With no nest to lay in
And rain falling.
Out on the hills again.
Soothed by the greyness,
Happy to hear the sound of rainfall
And make way to the next village.
Night will soon fall
And darkness envelop.
The Gentle Rain
The gentle rain is soothing
Washing away our outdoor needs.
Camping indoors, conscience clear –
No need to water gardens,
No need to hide that sad tear.
The only need is to sit, not forlorn,
Looking at the shining droplets on green leaves,
At the grey sky and the light sway of hawthorn.
Somewhere in the branches a pigeon coos,
Snug in her nest amidst thorn and wet leaf.
Her sound is my companion in silence.
Empty nothingness of the lonely deaf.
In lives, busy is the accepted code
To the fulfillment of desires, as should.
Good to put a stop to the world.
The mind looks from inside to out.
The body, the holy shrine of soul,
Receding to physical being, about.
No thought, becomes that of all man,
No movement, shakes each life atom.
Living is defined by doing,
So I must do, and do, and do.
There is no time to stop moving,
So on, and on, and on I must go.
Song and a Life
Every little movement
of the bough of a tree,
as it descends and rises,
catches the eye and makes big,
that which was small.
Once in a while it comes,
That which is beautiful.
Ever after one pines.
And the branch cascades
In the whirl of a breeze.
Driving along at 60 miles per hour,
In the dark of night
And headlights blaring,
I think of a song and a life.
Slowly rocks the branch.
Doolin
Sounds of laughter and music
And the clamour of crowds
Reveling outside license hours,
Left behind us this summer’s day,
As the road from Doolin we take
At our ease down to the sea.
On the stone wall with a pipe
Is perched an old man.
Grey hair and legs crossed – a sage.
‘Take good care of that lass,’ says he.
‘For her likes is not easy come by.’
On down to the sea we went,
And walked on sand,
Quizzing at rusted spheres
Abandoned by the tide.
Climbed a high sand bank,
Laughed at the mess behind,
Reaching the top, turning and a smile,
A smile to be cherished forever.
Awakening
Grey sand exposed by the ebbing tide,
Thunder of waves and cry of gulls,
Awaken in me a dormant desire.
Breathing the sea-weedy air
With head turned towards the gusty breeze,
I mourn my wasted time –
Whence forth to seek perfection.
A tortuous path is set before me,
At every twist an illusion,
A disappointment, a mystery.
No corner can be by-passed
Without unravelling the mystery,
Overcoming the disappointment,
Or dispelling the illusion,
And an eternity passes.
Whilst round each corner is visible
The next illusion, disappointment, mystery.
The path’s end so remote,
Down by the sea
Where all is peace and natural,
Where the crash of wave excites
And the backwash calms,
And the cry of the gulls forlorn.
Happy am I with an awakened desire,
No longer to perish indifferently.
The Paste of War
The paste of war, scrawled viciously,
(Meandering on bare canvas),
Never dries, even in hell’s fire.
The evil hand, delightedly,
(Of human flesh and bone softness),
Squeezes through a mince of pain, dire.
We opt always to fight,
In bravery to delight,
Where it is our will,
To just shoot and kill.
Same awaits all living things,
Yet few would want such a wreath,
But for some, a bad luck brings,
Terror of war, sudden death.
They, that see, the utter shock,
In eyes of killer and killed alike,
Can never from vision strike,