In the Fall

In the Fall
Everything falls earthward
It should be a time of

Desolation
Despair
Disillusionment

At Summer’s end.

But Autumn leaves
Turning to their brightest
Most gloriously
Inventive
Artistic
Enthusiastic
Sublime embrace
Of life.

In death
Nature shines
Puts on her
Royal robes
And parades
Across the land
Dancing in the wind,
In glory.

And why?

Because she knows
This is just the beginning
That after a winter retreat
There will be new life
New beginnings.

This is not death at all
This is life conquering death
Looking for tomorrow.


Poem and photo copyright Englepip ©

THE MOON CHILD

It hangs as a ball in an azure sky
Bobbing in an ocean of blue ether,
Buoyed on pink candy-floss clouds:
And as the sun sets on the darkening 
Globe below, the all-seeing moon
Stares at the world which bore it,
And thinks that Mother Earth
Is burning like a sun, suffering
From the heat of its diurnal rival
And melting into barrenness
From the excesses of a deadly
Parasite:  Man.
And if it could cry  it would and
Drown the fires with tears of sorrow;
It would scream to eternity
Of life wasted and for its loss.
It would blow cooling breath
on the deserts and poles 
And scratch out
The infestation,
Which is killing
Its mother.






Poem and photo copyright Englepip©

When I began to write this poem, I began to write about the beauty in the sky but my feelings about the raging fires in California; encroaching deserts and warming poles are so intense I began to personify the moon and feel its loss as though we are killing its mother.

On Chesil Beach

_1610782All a long the shore they lie,
Staring at a cloudless sky
Helpless and broken
On a bed of stones.

No gull swoops to devour them
No dog to crunch their  bones
Motionless, unwanted
None can hear their moans.

Unburied and discarded,
Helpless, rigid souls,
Staring up at heaven
Near where the huge sea rolls.

And always the sea batters
Upon this beach so cold
Pounding and back-gurgling
Stones millennia old.

For aeons past this beach has rolled
These stones so round and smooth;
What chance have fragile life-forms,
Against the force of time untold?

Words and photo copyright Englepip©

Chesil beach is a vey impressive “elemental” place. It is very hard to walk on and is vast and challenging. If you are interested, please follow this link to find out more here.

 

 

Daily Prompt: White Rose

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A winter’s day

And already the sun is low on the horizon

A chill creeps through the air

As the light sinks.

The graveyard settles into shadow

And night.

At my feet lie the dead.

Buried beneath the cold clods

Stones at their heads that read

Of poetic loss and grief at their passing.

“Beloved son”, “Loving mother,”

“Sacred to the memory.”

The once living

Now lie inanimate,

Six feet under.

Waiting: for what?

For eternity, for heaven or for hell?

Certainly, their release from this life passed,

Is there death, new life, resurrection?

For this is a Christian place.

As I turn to go,

I retrieve a discarded rose,

White and innocent in the dewy grass

And I place it on the moss-covered  wall

Between the sacred land and the unconsecrated.

Is it for me to sympathise in death or

To celebrate of the life to come?

 

We shall all find out in time.

 

Words and photo copyright to Englepip©

via Daily Prompt: Sympathize

Daily Prompt: Loyal to the last

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A friend, a father, an uncle, a son

Each loyal to the last.

Each believing they could stop

An enemy

Who each believed they could stop

an enemy

By following orders

Going over the top

Towards enemy gunfire

Which slugged into bodies,

Tearing and burning flesh

Til blood seeped unstoppable into

The quagmires of a foreign field.

Yet loyal to the last, to the cause of

The politicians who sent them.

Each poppy, each death

On either side,

A memory of

A life, a love;

Forever a grief.

 

Photos and poem copyright to Englepip ©

 

via Daily Prompt: Loyal