Tablets of Jet
You think that you only
Weep in remembering,
Nothing I’ve told you
Would hint at regret,
But I have the candle
We burnt at our offerings,
That wreathed its despairings
On tablets of jet.
I wrote and I rhymed you
By sky and by water,
I loved and desired you
In metre and song,
But needs seem to blind you,
Enrage, and remind you
That love is one garment
You’ve never put on.
You lost us forever
Then bled at our wounding,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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On Your 48th.
And so to you my sweet, it comes
The point at which, three quarters gone
Life trickles through our fingers
Like the sand,
In some sad, damaged hour-glass,
That runs ahead of man.
Months pass in days, and weeks in hours,
And how we age – like flowers that wilt in time;
Though beauty lies, not in unblemished skin,
But deep inside;
And character and grace shine at our eyes.
We rarely speak of love, as once we did
With hot breath steaming at the window panes,
And where we, breathless, rode along
The rim of our content,
We now seek quiet comfort in green lanes.
I love you still, and more than you would know,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Rats!
She's cleaning her whiskers
And tending her fur,
The full-blown ablutions
Important to her,
She's only inside
When it comes on to rain,
For she detests water
From gutter or drain!
She waits for the sun
To dip down out of view,
The stars to come out
And the breeze to blow through,
Then stalks through the garden
Head raised like a Queen,
And listens to rustles
From dartings unseen!
She looks with disdain
When I beckon to her,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Static
Stark patterns rent by winter storms
Sweep the blood-red sky,
By haunted mills and frozen rills
The static crackles by;
But not a stone stands on a stone
To halt its whispered sigh.
Through twisted steel and molten glass
The signal spends its force
Then mutters on through blackened wheat,
Bent on its wayward course;
But none may hear the crackling tear
That shimmers through the gorse.
Twice round the earth the signal runs
To seek that whip of steel,
The midnight radio of man
Has ceased to hear or feel,
And silence reigns, where once had seen
The skirling of the reel.
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Winter Comes...
Where once the spring
Shone in our faces,
Tugged at our heart-strings
Danced at our traces,
Now there are chills,
Portents inside us,
Shadows from far-off hills
Now walk beside us.
Love came and went,
Followed its calling,
Left us to rue the chance
Glance of each falling,
Tears followed laughter,
Sadness brought pain,
Love flowed down gutters
With every spring rain.
What of the children
Laughing beside us?
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Catherine Gables
What would you with me
Catherine Gables,
Turn my face
From my winter stables,
Call at the year
That my no-love lies in,
Treat the hurt
And the waste you're wise in,
Tease me and taunt
At the old love fables...
What would you with me,
Catherine Gables?
All of my shores
Are the grey of breakers
Seen from the tors of
Those same home-acres,
If there were time
And the old spark in me
I'd take heart
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Chinglish ai
I have left my heart
In the high, high sky
That you might still see
When I’m gone, close by;
And I took your love
When you slept, sound, deep
And carried love away
Like a robber in your sleep.
I wrapped it in feathers
And put it in a sack,
Hid it in a forest, then
Carried on my back,
Took a peek at nightshine
Saw the feathers heave,
Heard a little sigh then:
‘Why did you leave? ’
And my tears flew wide
To the river, so long
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Grim Seasons
The sea shore is the gods lap
Where the timeless meet,
The grey ditch by the hedgerow
Is my heart’s slow beat,
The dark sky and the crow’s cry
And the gulls, slow wheeling,
Are sleep’s shroud in a gold cloud
On my eyes, drawn stealing.’
She turned, splintering crystal
In the dawn’s brisk chill,
The sharp scatter of silence
By the rook’s slow trill;
‘I left you for the grey day,
For the cliff’s grim seasons,
For the crisp breath, or a life’s quest
Of my own small reasons.’
‘The long shade of the sundial
For a day’s lost thought,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Last Dream...
'What has become of my life, ' he said
To the clock on the kitchen wall,
But the hands stood still at 20 to 4,
The clock didn't know at all!
He turned to the mirror that mocked him there
Each time that he walked on past,
And searched for a sign in the pits and lines
Of the stranger who peered from the glass.
'Where are the days of the youth I had
When I laughed and cried out loud?
Are they hidden away on a dark pathway
Where I walk with my shoulders bowed? '
'And where, oh where was the love I knew
As she tripped from the wishing well,
And the coins that we threw in the fountain there...'
- There are several kinds of hell!
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Somebody Help!
The earth’s beginning to creak and groan
Like a rusty hinge in a country home
Or an ancient voice on the telephone,
That screeches – ‘Somebody, help! ’
Too many people, somebody said,
Too much carbon, not enough bread,
Too much greed in the neighborhood,
But please – ‘Somebody, help! ’
Trees are burning, the fields are dry
The sun is scorching the southern sky,
The ice is melting, so by and by
Won’t please – ‘Somebody help! ’
The earth is cracking from rim to rim
While water drains from the river’s brim,
The smoke pours out ‘til the light grows dim,
Stand up! – ‘Somebody help! ’
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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