wilf jones poems 5

 NEW or featured
  Coming soon selected pieces
  from The Twist Inside, and new
  Chronicle entries.
  And a blog entry - honest injun.
 

                    the heft and the edge                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     26/5/2017 wkj fantasy
 

 

 

 

 

    CONTACT
    @wilfkell
    wilf@wilfkelleherjones.co.uk
   

 

          VERSE                                            flags unfurl

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

India


When India wakes
Her eyes light up the world
When India smiles
A thousand flags unfurl
When India plays
It’s trumpets, pipes and drums
When India sleeps
The peace of God returns

When India cries
The world had best take heed
When India sighs
You wonder at the deed
When India laughs
She calls you to embrace
And when she speaks
Then love will dance with grace
 

 

 

 

COMMENT?

 

My daughter was an astronaut


My daughter was an astronaut:
She sailed the inky night;
Her smallest steps were giant leaps,
She put the dark to flight;

My daughter was the latest thing
To hit the silver screen:
She gave the heart to all the world,
The best there's ever been;

My daughter was a journalist,
She braved the cease-fire line,
Endured the trials and found the words,
Revealed the cruel design;

My daughter was the midwife
Who saw the future born;
My daughter was a teacher:
She touched the brightest dawn;
My daughter had a concert grand
And played to charm the angels;
My daughter the couturier:
Her name the hottest label.

Morgan Grace was all of these,
Morgan Grace was none:
Her life is lived only in dreams.
My darling girl has gone.

My daughter was an astronaut:
She sailed the inky night;
She went ahead, ahead of me,
Her secret soul in flight
Across the darkest galaxy,
A place I've never been,
Who knows now what she has become,
Who knows what she has seen?

 

 

 

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This poem has recently been published in the book:

My Daughter was an Astronaut

from

Write Now! Publications

an entirely independent publisher

For more information go to
 here
on this site
or visit
www.writenowgroup.co.uk
 

 

 

Runes Cast on the Birth of a Hero

 

In runes of fire
His name was scored
Upon the face of Marmarur,
The holy mountain
Carved by time,
The Oracle of Harapur.

A child foredoomed,
(His mother fair,
His father bold and strong,)
To cross the seas,
To find that land:
The shining land of song.

A seeker on
The farthest shore,
A warrior?  A minstrel?
A prince of swords,
A king of words,
A spirit fired full regal!

I cast a rune
Upon his birth,
Gebo, the rune by name:
The partnership,
The gift of gods,
The call to lasting fame!

Flynn Cameron
To sail between
Great glory and disaster:
Take warning,
Flynn Cameron,
Or fate will be your master.
 

 

 

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For Lovell Blaise  -  'a safe bet'    (Jan 95)

 

Dearest Lovell Blaise,

No fantasies for you,
No runes to cast upon the ground
To tell you all your future days,
No leaves in patterns new
From cozy tea-time parlour games,
No secret arts to raise a muse
To solve some Mystery of Names,
No ancient blessed with cloudy sight,
No diagrams in skies at night,
No moaning medium's tapped out news,
No Gypsy Rose with crystal views,
No auguries, no pregnant words
Drawn from the picture cards she lays,
No, none of these,
Dear Lovell Blaise,
Can give a clue
Or guide your ways.

The future holds herself in store:
Her guarded doors will open only
When their day is due and not before;
That is the joy of life:
That you alone can choose the door,
And you alone can turn the key -
A daunting task but True.
No seer can sound the calling depths
You will with courage plumb;
No savant ever count the steps
Of all the heights you'll conquer;
You'll make your future day by day,
You'll try and fail and sometimes win,
Will seek a path to praise or fame,
Step surely on but often falter.

I am no prophet, Lovell Blaise,
I cannot count events,
But there's one truth I can relate
To give you comfort all your days:

For every moment of your life
There is a force to buoy you up
For every second that you live,
A constant source to give you hope.

Remember this, Dear Lovell Blaise,
When old enough to gripe and blame
(though all the world seems older)
When free enough to suffer pain,
(though pain may make you bolder),
The Love that brought you to this life
Will be that source, will be the core;
And even when
The arms that held you in your youth
Can hold you safe no more,
That cloak you wear: that urge to care,
Will love you still and love you after.

So welcome to this great adventure,
Welcome to this life!
Take the sum of all you find,
Take it up and share it out
But always keep in mind:
That all you are is given free
By those whose constant love always
Will share your joys and share your pain
And count you precious,
Dearest Lovell Blaise.

 

 

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MORGAN GRACE                             16/5/96

 

I would have shown you Summer,
My darling Springtime child:
High upon the dreaming fells
We'd step the crag and col
And give the name to beck and mell;
Below the world for you to see:
The poppied fields, the sparkle lake,
The turn of road, the rooky tree.

And Autumn too I would have shown,
My darling Springtime child:
When leaves are blown in russet swirl
We'd kick through moulder banks and mounds
That fill the squirrelled dell;
The woodland path of berry bright,
The bramble brush, the stickle brook,
All bring you tales for your delight.

When Winter came with angry skies,
My darling Springtime child,
I would have shown you beauty in
The rage of wind, the sea so wild,
The lightning strike, the battle’s din;
I'd hold you tight and keep you warm
And sing a song to banish fear:
I'd teach you how to brave the storm.

My Springtime child your eyes have seen
The brightness of the day,
You knew your Mother's face and voice,
You knew our constant love.
Now all that's best to show of Spring:
The memory of that open gaze,
The memory of your Mother's smile
When all the world was new.

We have a kind Magnolia
To mark your forty precious days;
Her grace will show what should have been,
Your Springtime bloom will never fade.

 

 

 

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