POETRY

You’ll Never be a Memory

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You’ll never be a memory; there is good reason why,

A memory’s for wistfulness should true love pass you by,

The love that burned the wick to end,

Once fancy whim, a passing trend,

But you are all to me.

You never were the fleeting ship that passes by at night,

Welcome sight but then it passed and waved its masthead light.

A pained recall you’ll never be,

Another port or different quay,

For you are haven fixed.

Wherever fate directs me, wherever winds will blow,

Fond recall is for the past where lovers come and go,

Whilst some may weep and reminisce,

I live again your heart-shaped kiss,

And true bride you will be.

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A Challenge for Our Lord

“Child what would you have me do,

A challenge more than most?

I am the Holy Trinity, the Lord - God, Holy Ghost.

There’s nothing you could dream to hear,

That to the Lord confound:

Then tell me please, my Maker true,

I wish to hear one sound.

A nightingale or piccolo, the flute or zephyr’s sigh,

The melody of pining maid, the spray that sweeps on by?

My Lord, you are the instrument,

There’s nothing you can’t do,

Whilst I am but a dreamer, the supplicant in pew.

Man has made from woodwind, string,

A multitude of choice,

No violin, flute or sweet played lyre

Can equal human voice.

The dulcet tones of maiden sweet are scent for human ear,

As soothing voice of angels when you rest on funeral bier.

My Lord, I wish a piping lute,

As sweet as maiden’s hymn,

As lullaby at eventide, lament for those who sin,

An instrument to match her voice,

To smooth away the pain

Soprano, tenor, baritone,

Chanteuse of sweet refrain.

Michael (Walsh) 17.03.2014.

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Lost for Words

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When love is adoration how it tears your peace apart,

How best describe her beauty evades a poet’s heart.

The bard must search in vain for word,

That best describes such beauty spurred,

Subtle then portrayal be the words that match her true.

When lips are lush as nectar, when eyes would stop the breath,

Then sin would bring to sorrow, the lip-sweet kiss of death,

For when his soul is tortured by,

A wraith so Godly blessed,

The bard has met his match in her,

That never gives him rest.

When poets search in vain for words and phrase may not exist,

To better tell the world of lips by others sweetly kissed,

Elusive though description be,

The search will never let him be,

Illusion shall it better be if he would sleep in peace.

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The Universal Soldier

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Soldiers all wear uniforms because they’re all the same,

Except that some will die tonight, some weep and some be lame,

Underneath their uniforms you can’t tell them apart,

But under every tunic beats a lonely frightened heart.

Fritz and Ivan sleep tonight in little homes of clay,

Proud they fought for fatherland that death might bring the day,

When all men will be brothers, when all men will be kings,

To dream and love, to sow the seed instead of death that stings.

Soldiers all wear uniforms they march in rank and file,

Whose mothers wouldn’t know them without their cheery smile.

My brother, did we meet in church or on vacation beach,

Now we’re taught to hate and fight, ram bullets in the breach,

Janis, Peter, Igor, in uniform of man -

Undressed when in Gods uniform, not split by tribe or clan,

Their hearts are uniform so true -

What to a brother they would do,

To save his life if he’d be true to God and not to man.

Soldiers wear their uniforms, their boots and buttons bright,

Then shortly after life has dawned too early greet their night.

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