To all who have seen Vested time in nascent rhyme My heart says thank you
Some times you just have to stop. My mind is crammed with sadness, madness, badness and a never ending Why? Who are these people? How could they do that? Three groups of children have been blown up or shot in the last 4 weeks. Minya; Manchester; Aleppo To think is to scream. So it's alright to stop, it's not my fault! It's OK to swing gently To and fro While the sun shines through the Orange, blue, green canvas stripes. It's OK to twist gently With the breeze While the sun shines warmth Deep into my soul It's OK to just be. As the sun sinks slowly Across the bay And hides behind windmill hill. I can only be defeated If I never re-charge. So it's OK just to stop and say it's not my fault. And Simply Swing to and fro. Tomorrow I am ready.
Deep in her cave She lies as A single tear falls Into the dark earth Through the cave mouth Which holds a window on the world She sees a child Who once was and Deep in her sadness A deeper sadness still, wells up. A sadness that deepens To an anguish. An anguish that deepens To an excruciating pain. An excruciating pain that Explodes into a never ending howl! With her howl The trees shake Rivers rage and mountains moan, While the elemental wind echo's her call. The whole of nature cries out. Why, man will you destroy yourself? And deep in her cave Another tear falls for The child who once was but now never can be. But through the cave mouth That holds a window on the world A voice as gentle As a summer breeze whispers: Not all men will destroy! There is a man Who died for love And through this man All can learn and live to love And in this love no child shall cry. And deep in her cave A third tear falls for The Child who once was and yet still will be. © Malcolm Alexander 2017
The upstart crow As it does know Will jump and shake the feeder so The upstart crow As it does know Then eats the seeds before they grow The upstart crow As it does know Will jump and shake the feeder so Then eats the seeds before they grow The upstart crow As it does know Will jump and shake the feeder so Then eats the seeds before they grow The upstart crow As it does know Will jump and ....... Fly, fly, fly Le chien gonfable arrive!
A miniature of mum She wobbles and hesitates on the garden seat. Looks down at the seed falling from the feeder to the stones below. A breath and A tentative flutter Up towards the green perch, Nearly! Did air traffic control refuse landing? Mum flies down With a beakful of seed and with a caress of her beak Allows the youngster some food. Another breath A tentative flutter Up towards the green perch, Success! Playing peek-a-boo With mum popping seeds on each peek. And Dad? He's busy dear Leave him to his dinner. © Malcolm Alexander 2017
Down in the shelter of the valley floor the pulling and tugging late spring wind is far above us. Silver birch trees swing gently through the breeze, the tips of branches flecked green against a clear blue sky. We’re deep in a clear pool of dappled silver and grey bark, luminous green leaf-waves rippling overhead. Orange-tip butterflies flutter and tumble by, drifting from yellow celandine to sorrel whites. A grey wagtail bobs and weaves from stone to stone, dipping in the chattering stream. A winking citrus light on the stream bed. Nature ebbs and flows round us in our silver grey ocean of trees. There are tiny shoals of willow warblers circling over our heads. Liquid siren song holding us under the surface of the world. Submerging us in the rhythm of the woodland. © Malcolm Alexander 2017
I suppose She's lying, Rolled on her side In her corrugated tin tent. Night has blanketed her in grey Against the cold north wind blowing across the field. In the tugging, chill darkness even the hut is gone. Only the gentle sound of the snoring pig Points to where she lies, Rolled on her side Sleeping. Smiling? I am. © Malcolm Alexander 2017
I’ve been bothered by a leaf. Well half a leaf really, brown and crinkled. It’s been swinging across the kitchen window for days now suspended on the remains of a spider’s web. Just a single strand of web that allows the demi-leaf, we’ll call it, to tap, tap, flutter, back and forth in the breeze. It occasionally gets stuck part way over. Held briefly on its thread by a small, white, duck down feather which is also fixed to the glass. Presumably by the remaining parts of the web. I’m not sure what I should do about them, if anything or if I should simply leave them be. They seem an unlikely couple this demi-leaf and feather. Held together by a force completely out with their control. Meeting and separating and meeting again. Blown about by life. I’ll leave them be. Life will do what it will. Who knows maybe the web will bind them both together and hold them forever. © Malcolm Alexander
Not powerful but full of power, Of raw energy flashing from her eyes. Intense, concentrated energy, Drawn from experience of a hard fought life. Protecting, fierce energy, Tempered in the fire of motherhood. Determined, ingrained energy, Refusing to retreat whatever the pain. Deep in her cave, She lies, Hiding. © Malcolm Alexander