Love Like Thistledown

Your love is like a thistledown.

So soft and smooth, was our delight

As to lie upon it for the night. 

You, my love, and I would bed,

A tender pillow at our head.

Under down that’s silky smooth,

As is your skin, which I had wooed.

But come the Spring with seeds unsprung

When new shoots shot and leaves unwound

Then spikes they grew with wretched prickles

To wreck our bed with constant bristles

And love which started gossamer-light,

Turned to splinters overnight –

That pricked and stuck beneath the skin,

Unleashing a spite that underpinned

A love not firm, based on flocculent things:

For thistledown that’s smooth without

Is treacherous, secret-sharp within;

Beguiling love: your gentleness

Has a  knife-edged paradox built in.

Photo, poem and idea, copyright to Englepip©

You Leave me Hanging On

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You leave me hanging on

Waiting for a word of commitment,

Not to be found, 

But encouraged by your smile

And flattering words I am still here. 

You leave me in a limbo 

Between emotional life and death

Feelings once blossoming

Subdued and dying back

With each Autumn day. 

Caught by the power of your scent 

And the addictive intimacy 

Of your touch, I was blinded by 

Your words of love: a sham. 

Now I am held here,

Dangling from your branch

As a dead leaf which turns from green

To brown, until it flutters lifeless

To the ground of your winter. 

 

Photo and words, copyright Englepip©

Shelley, this is England

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When I wake early to a summer’s morn

My spirits, leap.

Turning,  I watch your chest gently rising and falling

And I am glad, so glad that you will be here

To share this day.

The dawn has broken and the birds flit from bush to tree

Finding a perch high up from which

To announce their presence and welcome

The fact that they are alive.

My territory they announce; my family; my food.

I cannot blame them, for them,

Not to fight for the right

To survive; means certain death.

I watched last year how the  blue-tit parents failed to provide

And all nine chicks lost their lives.

But I am human and English and comfortable

And on Saturday mornings the whole world is mine

For an hour or maybe two.

Quietly I slip from the bed and into a gown,

Creeping downstairs to boil the kettle

And look out at the garden which has grown while I was not looking.

Sitting at the table next to the patio door

I luxuriate in the pale dawn light; 

the bird song and the peace

And the fact that there is not yet traffic.

A woody scent emanates from the earth

As the dew evaporates with the growing warmth.

I hear a plop as a frog returns to the tiny  pond next to the pear tree.

And I think of England – as did Shelley- except I am here already.

I have another forty-five minutes, surely.

The sun rises and the bird song diminishes on my little patch of paradise

And still I think of England, my early morning England.

But as the noise of planes and traffic increases,

So does the dust in the air which becomes city dry

Taking on that acrid brightness that is brittle;

And though the heat is increasing,  I pull my gown closer and shiver

At the prospect of  a Saturday in England, in the twenty-first century.

My tea is cool now in the mug.

One neighbour has decided to spray insecticide early,

While it is cool and he thinks no one will notice.

 At the back, the children have woken and wail in an argument over an iPad.

And then the DIYers…….and the traffic!

The cacophony of what is England now, today.

England – fair England – eaten up by diesel fumes and thoughtlessness,

I hear you stir.

And I am so glad that you will be here with me,

To calm and shield me in the chaos that is life;

My constant in a changing and polluting world that

I would hold dear,  but fear cannot survive this way.

I will take you up a cup of tea.

Photo and words copyright Englepip©

Love Lost

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Deserted; bereft of your company;

Your love a retreating tide

Or a falling Autumn leaf.

Brittleness

Fills the air and skeletal twigs

Populate my life

Despite the summer sun. 

The tide lays bare the rocks

And sand blows across the empty beach. 

Once we held so much

As one, rolling on the ebb and flow of life. 

But today you do not put your arms 

Around me

And your smile sits on another horizon

Not mine. 

Our ship

Sinks below the horizon

Out of sight forever. 

**************

But always my soul yearns

For you. 

 

Photo and poem copyright Englepip©

 

I miss the Daily Prompt. It got me writing regularly. Thank you to AARDVARK – Alan GraceNZ for providing a forum. I must get my head around it soon. See below.

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A rose by any other name

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They call you dog rose,
But could anything
Be more sublime
Than your five pink petals
And your  yellow filaments fine?

Derogatory term for beauty
Here hiding shyly
In the shade of early June.
Dappled light of early summer
But hedges soon to festoon.

They say you will cure
A mad dog’s bite
Your juices potent in the fight
But for me your beauty
Is the simple remedy
That helps heal a heart
Pierced by inconstant love’s dart.

Poem and photo copyright Englepip©

Daily Prompt: Love scaffold

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My consciousness – invisible

My mind – invisible

My love – invisible

As are yours to me.

And yet our whole

Is and will be,

Until  time ends.

And although we cannot see it

We are like scaffolding,

For where we link in love

We hold each others’ heart.

I to you am like a soldered joint

That builds a whole.

And  linked we make chain mail.

Invincible, invisibly together.

 

Poem and photo copyright Englepip©

 

via Daily Prompt: Invisible