Pause

The cool grey light, dove-soft and feathered,
Strokes the surface of the loch, subduing the
Waves that earlier chattered to the passing wind,
And now they whisper, soft and low, of the
Day passing and the night as yet untold.

And in those moments the memories of
Pain, and loss, sweep back over the soul
Of the watcher, the one who awaits the stars
And the unstoppable march of the
Approaching night, the dawn-waiter.

And in time, the memories fade to sepia
And play silently, an old and tattered film.

(c) 2ndwitch, 09/03/17

Warm Embrace

Today I have seen the words that tell the tale
Today I have listened to the song that serenaded your going
And today I have looked back in time at the
Memories that are swirling, some bright,
Some faded into soft colour, some mono
And some greying into moonlit silver.
And today I feel again the knife that
Cut me to the soul, that took from
Heart of me all that I am, and laid
It bare before me, to see and realise
The pointlessness of it all, the lack of
Anything of point or purpose.
Your death took from me the hope of a new
Day, and it showed to the world that I
Am worthless and without substance.
Today I have revisited that day, and once again
I can see the entrails of a life wasted
Spread at my feet, to be kicked
And buried into the dust and detritus of
Other people's more worthwhile lives.
Today I have remembered the songs that cut
To the bone, the pictures sung that dance
In my darkest dreams and people my
Nightmares, today I recalled the truth of
The knowing that it is not for me, and that
There is no tomorrow, just yet another
And another and another yesterday.
Today I have remembered the
Yesterday that I cannot forget.

(c)2ndwitch, 04/12/16

The Survivor

And sometimes the feelings are more than words
The time that you thought was yours
Stretches and ebbs and flows
Until there is no shape or form, and your
Head and heart are feeling so full and
You feel as though you are drowning in
The black velvet of not understanding.
Sometimes it is like that, and other times
You know that there is no point in continuing
And no point in trying to fight on and
Take that next step, you want to sink
Into a grey and beige void of nothing,
Where you cannot hear or see or feel
Anything at all, where you exist in nothing.
And then sometimes you reach out and
Try to touch, you want to connect but
There are iron bands on your arms and
However hard you try you cannot make
Your fingers brush with another.
And those times there is only ever music,
And other times there is also music.
Never forget, there is music.

(c) 2ndwitch, 03/12/16

The grieving of the year.

The first breaths of autumn brush softly
The now wrinkled cheeks of summer;
They kiss the fingers of August, in greeting
And farewell, sighing long and low over the
Blown roses and tired leaves; and then
The harsher cold of the steel-blue eyes of
A dying season casts its tendrils over
The final shivers of remembered warmth.
Autumn, fruitful autumn, heralded by clouds
And driving rain; a season of fading memories
And sobbing grief; hidden in the relentless drops
Of piercing water, the herald of ice and winter snow.

© 2ndwitch, 01/09/15

In memoriam

so kiss goodbye to romance
let her dance where the dragonflies dance
in the flash of clear light
where the day meets the night
let her dance where the dragonflies dance

let the mourning bells ring
and pause while the mockingbirds sing
where that one final tune
wreathes stars round the moon
and pause while the mockingbirds sing

stand and wait at the edge of the grave
while grass whispers and red poppies wave
the soft sigh of the breeze
calls to oceans and seas
while grass whispers and red poppies wave

breathe farewell on one last longing sigh
send your love where the butterflies fly
cast your grief to the clouds
wear your black cloth like shrouds
send your love where the butterflies fly

and take this, then, the last chance
to dance where the dragonflies dance
in that flash of clear light
where the day meets the night
you can dance where the dragonflies dance

© 2ndwitch, 24/06/15

There will be no snowdrops in the rain.

So many times, the same words,
Round your empty head, echoing
And ringing with a hollow tone,
Each note a stiletto in your heart.
Dark, the friend of the aching mind,
Is oppressing the aching soul
And the clammy wind winds
Its tendrils round your sanity.
The snowdrops dance, the breeze
Teases them, and the rain caresses
Their petals, but no matter, no matter
They shed no tears, they are no
Sign of hope.
There is no comfort from
Snowdrops in the rain.

© 2ndwitch, 15/06/15

There is a reference to a song here, but as it is not really very complimentary in nature, I will not name the singer / writer, and merely acknowledge that the reference is there - if anyone is concerned by this, please contact me and I will give further information. Please note that it is the specific song that I dislike, not the person who wrote or sings it.

Monochrome.

There are days when the longing for what once was
Overcomes the pleasure in what is now.
There are days when the times gone by sing their
Lament in your ears, and block the sound of the
Soft day breathing. There are days, there are days.
If you have never loved, or never lost, then you
Cannot know the same days.
You will know days, you will ignore days,
Some days you will cry with a pain that was born
When neolithic man walked this earth, and
Will find that pain unbearable, and so sharp,
And so cold and so hot, you will know those days.
Others will know other days, when the softing light
That filters through the silken grey of winter clouds
And caresses you with ethereal limbs, and strokes
The warmth into a chilled submission, and when the
Memories engage in a macabre dance of death,
Those days will seep into your heart, and sap
The hope from your very soul.
The days when the longing for what once was
Is so strong that you feel yourself bending and
Breaking, your roots are torn free from solid ground,
And you are tossed on a torrent of grief and regret
That crashes and roars and carries you unwilling
All the way down to the infinite sea.
There are days.

© 2ndwitch, 06/03/15

Reflecting.

The light of snow-cloud and rainbow-sun danced
Across the wind-tossed waves, and touched the trees
On the far shore.
Silver-grey plated hills deigned to stoop
And kiss the winter-watered loch.
And a robin darted and bobbed on the barren branches.

Memories of summer days hovered, just out of reach,
And the ghosts of evenings round the campfire
Sang soundless songs to the winter air.

A phantom sunrise taunts the winter afternoon,
And promises that this day too will pass.

And this day too will pass.

© 2ndwitch, 21/02/15

Recalling a Wild Cat - for Becky's Dad.

May the wind be gentle as it fills your sails,
And your boat skim the waves as it heads out from the bay.
Set fair your course, for a land that is sunlit,
Where there are fires on the shore, fish to catch,
And a kettle to boil at the end of the day.
May your pennant fly bravely, and dance in the breeze,
And your hand on the tiller be steady and firm.
May your journey be endless, the charts of the heavens
Show stars to plot your course, and the wind
Fall at sunset, to let you sleep the night in peace.
May you find islands and shores of plenty,
Laughter and grace wherever you go, and a safe
Harbour that takes you safe within its walls.
May the life on the other ocean be calm, and may
Memories be the legacy, and your smile live
On in dreams.

© 2ndwitch, 20/02/15

(I should probably not publish this poem yet, but I have kept to publishing at the time of writing for all of this blog, so can only hope those that were so much in my mind as I wrote will understand. I will revisit and perhaps explain in due course - maybe.)
(Added note - I mentioned a very special friend in a poem the other day, sadly her dad has died. I discovered, not so long before he died, that he and I shared a deep love of the Lakes (actually, I knew that bit!) and of Swallows and Amazons. I knew he was dying, and I wanted his passing to be as peaceful as it could be, and that wish expressed itself in the above poem.)

Time

Small things, a passing word, a smile, the way the sun
Catches on the raindrop'd leaf, small things
Are all it takes to bring the vagrant memory
To mind, and slowly, perhaps, some part of one
Of those memories creeps out from between
Closed eyelids, and slides quietly down
The weathered and aged skin, and pauses,
Suspended between the inward void and the
Infinite outside world, before being swept away
By an impatient hand.
And embarrassed, friends stand by, and
Utter bland and hopeless words, designed to
Comfort or suppress, which is not clear,
But always the words that are meaningless
Chatter and fight, the cacophony hiding the
Soft whisper of treasured remembrance.
That, my friend, is the truth of the rain that
Stands on the snowdrop.

© 2ndwitch, 26/11/14

Stan Rogers

A few words, a glance, such simple things
That can mean so much, that
Allow the sun to shine when the clouds
Are weeping rain on your world.
So many songs, so many pleas, so many
People for whom love is a reality,
And yet, and yet . .
For so many people that is a dream,
A longing, a pain and a hole that no
Transient pleasure can fill.
Sometimes we have something so
Precious that we are dazzled to the
Meaning and beauty of it,
And we carelessly cast it aside,
And trample it underfoot.
But I am glad he lived.

© 2ndwitch, 15/09/14

Thoughts

I knew you as a friend so long ago,
I knew your smile, and the words that you
Whispered in my ear.
I knew your laughter, and the raised eyebrow,
That said so much without saying anything at all.
I knew you as a friend so long ago.

I knew you as a friend so long ago,
I knew your words, the messages you'd send,
And I knew when something
Might upset you, and cause you to stop still,
To pause and take stock.
I knew you as a friend so long ago.

I knew you as a friend so long ago,
I knew that I could call you, I knew
You would be there.
I knew your voice, and the soft touch of
Your hand on my arm.
I knew you as a friend so long ago.

Today I look around me, and I see you are not here.
No longer is your smile just round the corner.
I look to read your words, they no longer
Speak to me, I cannot call on you now
If I am lost or without hope. I knew you then,
But I do not know you now. Sometimes.
Sometimes. Sometimes I think of you, when
I hear the notes of a tune, or the soft indrawn breath
Of the morning's child. And often I think of you
As the sun sinks into its nighttime bed, and the world
Fades from gold to deep blue. Then,
And always then, I think of you.

You are legion, you are dead, you are alive,
Just born, and nearing the end.
You are everyman, and I have lost you.
But I will always think of you.

© 2ndwitch, 12/09/14

Now it is night in that land.

When life is a mere thread, thin and fragile,
And fear is tugging hard,
When midnight seems so dark, the stars
Are mute and silent, the
Wind shines silver with tears,
Then we remember.
Then we cannot forget.
The we remember that we are
Remembered, that times
Cannot be lost, they just fade
And soften, the pains
And hurts melt into one
Blurred dream.
I reach out to you, but you
Do not see me, you are
Serene and cannot see
Because you do not want to see.
That is the deepest and
Stillest pool of all for me.

© 2ndwitch, 04/09/14

Touching the untouchable.

When the fireflies dance, and cast their pin-point gems of light
Around the grey-dusk softness of evening,
The comes the whispered message, the soft-spoken words
"Go to the mango trees"

And so he went, bare-footed and steady,
Across the brown-dry grass that grows beside the road,
Towards the broken-splintered fence, beyond which
The mango trees grow.

The trees stand mute at daylight's end,
And silent, no wind ties the leaves to mindless chatter now,
But instead, soundless with horror, they keep silent sentinel
Over the alien fruit.

For hanging there, in voiceless plea for mercy,
Scarf-suspended, and lifeless now, lost in tear-strewn tomorrow,
Side by side, the mango tree carries the fruit of man's loins.
"The body of your daughter is there"

© 2ndwitch, 01/06/14