Poetic Musings of an Older Mind by Denis H. Barter (reading books for 7 year olds .TXT) 📕

Without a Shadow Seen.

A dull winter’s day without shadow,
Is seldom enjoyed anywhere;
With the absence of sun, cloaked by clouds,
Dampness pervades the still air.

All sounds are deadened or muffled,
Sharp noises stifled at source.
Though we see no signs of the sun’s travel,
It continues to run its course.

In the morning - sombre and dour,
There’s never a bird seen to stir.
With the minutes dragging forever:
Every hour, is a tiresome blur.

With energies quickly drained,
As dullness imposes its way,
The lacking of warm winter sunlight,
Brings ache for the end of the day!


With no rift in the cloud forthcoming,
No lightening skies, can we find:
Whilst suffocating cloud that stifles,
Smothers and deadens the mind.

We long for the clouds to be riven;
The colour of blue in the sky,
We implore the day to end shortly,
When dolour belittles the eye!

A day that is heavy and leaden,
With never a shadow that’s seen,
Denies delights we were promised:
Usurped by ambivalent scene.


Winter Transformation.

Snowflakes swirling, twirling;
Confused they land: but know not where
Riding the turbulence of air:
Billowing streamers unfurling;
Their destination: they’ll not say
With no time to dally, hasten away!

Winter’s frenzy now unchained:
The world transformed, an awesome sight
As it dons a shroud of white.
The snow maelstrom, unchecked, unreined:
Familiar landmarks disappear:
When next will they reappear?

The world loses all familiarity,
As renewing its flagellation,
Bewailing winds, sing in jubilation!
The universe loses all similarity
With the world we know,
Buried deep beneath fresh virgin snow!

As the storm moves on, the winds subside:
Skies clear, reluctantly the snow abates:
When hushed , brittle silence dominates.
Emboldened, we emerge to stand wide eyed
To stare upon a surrealistic scene,
That winter dropped by, now clearly seen!


The Autumnal Storm.

Keening winds seek every cranny and crack,
Sending icy shivers up and down my back:
With strengthening winds headed my way
I’m persuaded to hasten my homeward way.

Gathering my coat against clammy dampness felt,
Turn high my collar, before firmly tightening my belt.
With gusting winds tearing roughly at my coat tails
I’m sharply reminded, as each flutters and flails,

That with a storm nearing, I must quicken my pace.
As I hold gloved hands high, to shield my face,
A spattering of rain, from the lowering cloud,
Borne on strengthening winds, now howling loud,

Adds further urgency! Enveloped by the wind and rain,
Which although it exhilarates and energises me again,
Reminds me, one should not defy Nature’s primeval intent.
Ever devastatingly powerful. Even as heavy skies are rent


And shredded clouds scatter madly before its might,
They’re continually lit by the storm’s fearsome light
Which illuminates towering clouds in stark silhouette.
Doubtless the forked lightning seen, will worsen yet!

But this magnificent display of Nature’s awesome power,
Warns I must seek shelter from the torrential shower.
Though to stand beneath a tree, is not wise we’re told,
To brave such a storm is also foolish. Even for the bold.

So with the storm seemingly settling in for the night,
Decide I’ll not test the wrath of her elemental might.
Far better I dash for the safety of my home nearby,
Where, once I’m within, one can relax and remain dry.


The Leaf.

There was a lone summer leaf,
hanging high in the tree.
All the others had fallen.
No more left that I could see.

Other leaves scattered,
as fierce winds began to blow.
That this leaf would soon follow?
How little did I know?

Throughout the night the strong winds blew,
tried to dislodge the leaf!
But when dawn broke, yet it remained!
I looked in disbelief!

How could it taunt such fearsome winds,
or survive, the long, cold night?
Witness the leaf, so small and frail.
The wind sheer strength and might!

When the sun broke through the clouds;
and shone on the lone leaf it found,
It was then it loosed its fragile grasp,
Slowly drifting to the ground,


I knew then, it was a message,
in Nature’s subtle guise.
Brute force seldom wins the day!
Kindness does more for the wise!

The Mighty Oak.

One can see upon the hill, there stands a tree,
A stately magnificent oak, standing free.
This stalwart titan that defies Nature’s moods;
Is a place of refuge when the world intrudes.


It is a tree that stands with justly pride:
Possessed of girth full three breadths wide:
It’s many strong branches, provide a hide:
To those who’d seek safe sanctuary inside

Its dense canopies that reach for the sky,
Denying all searching eyes that might pry.
Born long before any man that lives today:
Withstanding all that Nature throws its way.


Thwarting Nature’s worst assaults; does not yield:
This upstanding guardian of forest and field,
Is a stolid bastion: an ancient relic of long ago,:
And doubtless, one our ancestors would know.

Standing resplendent for all the world to see,
Its impassive solitude and compelling majesty:
Are honoured in chronicles of fable and mystery;
We can but postulate upon its chequered history.

Roots exposed show the entry to a badger’s sett,
This determines occupants live below. Some get
On bended knee to seek evidence of their occupation.
One long enjoyed for theirs is a snug, secure situation.

Far above the ground, in the topmost branches, a nest
Is clear sign there are a multitude of birds that rest
In comfort and security within its lofty, leafy citadel.
From this vantage point, we spy a watching sentinel


Who keeps wary eye upon those who draw near.
His warnings echo far and wide for all to hear.
But for most, there is acceptance all must share
In the security the Oak offers all that live there.

Appealing to all who would spend a lazy hour,
Is the cooling shade offered by its leafy bower.
A place to idle time away on a hot, sunny afternoon.
Well remembered as one that passed by all too soon.

Today I pray this Oak will stand for aeons more:
Offering cool shade and protection, as before.
This tree: fabled inhabitant of the rustic scene,
Is one I can proudly say to all: “I have seen!”

The Moor.

Cloaking misty hills and many a deep valley floor:
The empty Moor presents an outlook, stoical and dour.
Seemingly barren, this mute guardian of history,
Emits an air of arcane intrigue and darkest mystery.

Stunted Jack Pines, seen clustered on a distant knoll,
Stolidly defy Nature, though she exacts her toll.
They, as living record of ravages exacted by time,
Struggle to survive the harassment of its harsh clime.

Of other trees that one seeks, there are but few to see;
Except for a solitary Oak, a rugged, ponderous tree,
With deeply gnarled bark and stout branches entwined,
That survives, whilst all others, the Moor has declined!

When storm clouds threaten, and the midday dims,
This land, subject to Nature’s unpredictable whims,
Sends all Moor denizens scurrying, helter skelter
To seek the comfort and safety of familiar shelter.

When evening winds, croon their eerie symphony,
And babbling rills join in, to send haunting melody
Echoing across the ling, it provokes fresh fears,
That warn the Moor is no place to be, when night nears.

When the Moor is lit by a full moon, still there’s deceit,
For deep hazardous shadows, often trick unwary feet,
As bog and tussock, seemingly reach out to ensnare,
The ill fated interloper who chances to stumble there


For Nature strives to erase all signs of human hand,
Would return the Moor to what befits this native land.
Her awesome control, allows for no compromise,
As those who would challenge her ways, soon realise!

But I enjoy the freedom such visits offer me;
For tis therein, I find peace and serenity.
So when solitude is an urgent need, and my goal?
The Moor brings composure to my tormented Soul.

The Seasons.

With balanced beat, marking the minutes of each passing day.
Witholding none of her favours, even though we fear she may,
So does Nature’s unbroken patterns, regulate our lives.
With normality maintained, our vitality survives.

One by one the Four Seasons, strive ceaselessly to attain
Favour by our spirit, though each has short months to reign!
With beauty flagrantly displayed, in annual procession,
We are thus rewarded, by her habitual progression.

Each Season by itself, a masterpiece of perfection,
Is no more than a miniature, of the total collection.
Each microcosm, though balm for exhausted senses,
Soon slips into the past, while a new Season commences.

First, Spring bursts forth, after Winter’s blanket of snow
Has finally departed, and as Her splendours swiftly grow,
The year awakes, and from Her dormant, stagnant earth
Explodes a profusion of colour! We witness the birth

Of a new Season. As Her gifts are scattered lavishly,
Our Psyche is well refreshed. So we pursue our destiny.
With the clock’s steady tick, to mark the passing hours,
The floodgates are opened, to Summer’s ever welcome flowers

.

Time is rashly squandered, though warm lazy days are long.
Soon short weeks are over. Heard is Autumn’s warning song.
The luxuries of Summer sun, then surrender to icy rains,
And fierce contrary winds, confuse whirling weather vanes!

The closing act of the year’s advancing caravan,
Puts the crowning touch, to Nature’s universal plan.
Then Winter arrives! Dressed as a Maid to wed,
Robed in white, and expectant, she takes to her bed!

The Year’s Awakening.

There dawns a moment which I long to seize,
As spring flowers parade their blooms to please;
When Nature invites me to while away the hours;
Entreats me to enjoy her wide diversity of flowers.


When savouring the rich bouquet of Wild Woodbine,
Added to the fragrance of Violets and Columbine;
A hint of sweet scented Brier and Honeysuckle Vine;
Surely one asks, if this delectation is not the sign

This Season, of which we've been long deprived,
Is the anticipated spring now finally arrived?
stored in memory, then recalled cold winter nights,
We're intoxicated with her well remembered delights.

Soon dormant passions quicken with her welcome face,
For in our lives, She is assured a special place!
And of these joys, which survived winter's cold and frost,
Now drink we our fill of pleasures, we feared were lost!

An Elemental Moment

There are times, as my soul dictates, I’d seek solitude;
Would remain undisturbed to ease my angst. My mood
Is such that I seek out a sheltered, solitary place,
Then allow salt ocean winds, to softly caress my face.

Watching from the rocky shore, I am lost in wonder
At the force which brings the waves from far out yonder,
To self destruct upon the shore on which I stand!
What primordial power is this, that holds such command?

But even as I ponder, changes take place around.
A sighing; no more than a subtle change of note. A sound,
At first no more than a vague imagined inflection,
Is heard of the strengthening breeze, changing direction.

Shortly, wind whipped waves rise to break in whitened crest,
Before they crash upon the rocks and