Reciprocal Arrangement

Language is a stream that is almost sure to smack of a mingled soil.  - George Eliot

Redeemed! In weft wove gold of Raveloe –

Hush now…Kind heart –  I see this Golden Rule

Doth comfort thee.  Sternly observant as the love shall go.

Which Love? For Greeks had words

For passions – Fractured them – Cruel

Speech that throws a sense

Yet senseless lies.

I am undone in syllables –

E’en as your story tries

To reassure.  Its reassurance wanes.

A hollow mouth.

An empty glass.

And leaves – well – foretell Nothing.

True! Future rests her footing on the Past.

Seer, stop and tarry – for the night is young –

And we must marry meaning with the urge –

Strange feeling – not unique –

For were it thus we’d have no word for it.

O! Seer - Gaze upon the palm –

And see Eternity –

Reflected in the coin.

This one's for the also-rans

This one’s for the also-rans

Who loved but whom love lost

Who also dreamt of making plans

But paid the higher cost

Who fortune favoured fleetingly

Although their moves were bold

Who never got the luxury

To see themselves grow old

This one’s for the also-rans

Whose passions weren’t returned

A boat not quite remembered

On a tack that seldom turned

Their features went unmentioned

Their novels went unread

Their details stayed unwritten

By the pen outside their head

This one’s for the also-rans

For they too made the race

Without their added ballast

It would run a different pace

So let’s make up the numbers

‘Til one plus one is three

This one’s for the also-rans

Yes this one is for me.

Phasmid

I wrote this rhyme to break a spell

That made me think my eyes saw well:

A rose by any other name,

Or butterfly that looks the same?

The children round the storybook

Know when they take another look -

Or they replay a favoured game -

The tale is never quite the same.

The clone is but our own belief

That hides the insect on the leaf.

For chips designed to simulate

Will never recreate their mate.

The Twins – forever two in one -

Show where such sums must come undone;

For if I’m here I can’t be there

(Unless here-there is everywhere)

Tomorrow cannot be today,

Or reproduced another way.

All copies simply don’t exist

Beyond the swirl of human mist;

For we cannot remake A Thing

With nosuchthing as ‘copying’.

And still I see what this reveals,

Not creatures camouflage conceals.

Intravenous

As lines convey the saline drip

With certain roll to trembling lip

This mortal tastes immortal salt –

The Poet is but Nature’s fault.