POETRY

I'll put my shoes on back to front if I would shed a tear,

Turn my coat around me, place cap to face the rear,

Then if my trail would seem to you now stepping to the fore,

Be not deceived, the trail would go where fools have gone before.

Better still to pen this poem and seal it in an urn,

Then take it to the graveyard where others go to yearn,

I’ll place it somewhere secret, and known to only me,

Inside the urn my memories that no one else can see,

Yesterday was somewhere else, a place where I’ll not go,

Another man, another time where thoughts like rivers flow,

This night my bed will be my womb and I will rise anew,

With coat and cap and shoes to front I’ll walk ahead with you.

Michael (Walsh) June 2013

Michael: quite_write@yahoo.co.uk

How was I to know the sprite,

Would cast her magic spell?

Could I have been the only one,

Who didn’t know me well?

Unprepared and thinker free,

I thought that I would single be,

But now I know t’was just a dream,

Things are never as they seem.

Enchanting, she was sweet and wise,

Appearing in seductive guise,

Soon to altar, blessed am I -

And how the magic moments fly,

For I will soon bid fond farewell,

To single days when I would dwell,

In thoughtful dreams that she may be,

The only sprite as meant for me.

(a sprite is a wood nymph, a fairy)

Once in heaven, back to earth,

Where there is life anew;

Re-born to live his mortal life,

Of trials and love of you.

He took the splendid journey,

Through the passage made for love,

Awaiting at the end a light,

Two angels blessed with love.

The seraphs that were chosen,

Mother, wife to guide,

Were sent by God when God was just,

To be his mortal bride.

Would he return to heaven,

Or better mortal be?

Fate would know the answer,

That he returns to Thee.

Eternal life in heaven

Timeless when on earth,

His soul was passed between the two,

When roaming birth to birth.

Michael (Walsh) © June 2013

quite_write@yahoo.co.uk

If Pine Trees Were Steeples

Bluebells in Your Hand

I will keep the candle burning in our window every night,

To symbolise my yearning, dear, for you,

And if the candle flickers, you need not be alarmed,

It flutters as my heart’s inclined to do.

I often look to garden gate then down the country lane,

The image of your presence sets me free,

I see you in the distance with bluebells in your hand,

A mirage that will never let me be.

I praise the Lord Almighty for His gift of sweet recall,

Since fate stepped in and we were torn apart

The ear to hear your voice again, the eye to sweet evoke,

The portrait that is scored upon my heart.

I will keep the candle burning, undying and sublime,

For like my heart it wishes but to wait,

Until it sees you once again with bluebells in your hand,

When smiling as you did at garden gate.

Michael (Walsh) 21.06.13 ©

quite@write@yahoo.co.uk

The Immortal Flame

Father's Day

It’s been a long time since we talked,

So how’s things been with you?

It’s good to share a table,

And to share a thought or two,

I missed you, did you know I did,

Through all those passing years,

Perhaps as it was long ago -

There’s little point in tears.

If you were now to turn the clock,

To when that fateful day,

You woke up in the morning,

Then went upon your way,

Would we have spoke a fond goodbye,

And blessed what we would lose,

I understand my father dear,

You had no sway to choose.

When spring is over, summer’s done,

And web of life has autumn spun,

When winter’s through and leaves have fell,

On pastures, fields and forest dell,

It’s then I think but think alone,

I whisper words that might atone,

For what was lost, uncried, unsaid,

Before they laid you on your bed.