stuff

[Scarlett Wampus]

A poem I wrote about hope: -

Hope,
You hear the sadness
That will not speak its name
And lay it to sleep like a mother
Smothering her child.
You listless waif
Whose comfort waifs rest upon,
Bring neither word nor sign to swell
Your decadent sway.
This weary body that bears the scars
Of your poor counsel
Outlives you.
Thus your legacy becomes failure
And in me,
Your failure is ended.
What bitter release it is
From your wistful grip.



A poem my father sent me recently. Its kind of in response to the above, but its unecessary to explain why: -

Dream and Daylight

Daylight seeped down
into my dream.

It was my town
but my house had gone;
they were my friends
but they were forlorn.
I was in a basement
with discarded chairs and doors.

I went downstairs in the daylight
for a cup of tea and toast.
It was my house
but the wistful dream
kept welling up.
They were my friends
but their time had gone.
In the basement of my mind
the old town was forlorn
still existing, but abandoned
and my seaside home had gone.

Underneath the comfort
of my breakfast cup of tea
and the welcome of this daylight
lies the old town by the sea,
discarded doors, detritus:
the old dream that was me.



Below is some disjointed writing. I do this quite often to see where it will lead. It rarely comes together (as you might notice from below) but its fun: -

That night by my bedside
the secret council of creatures meet.
"Have you dreamt?" they would ask
those sweeping down from the tide of the moon,
drifting over the dark and dewy world
or rising up from fertile depths

"I have dreamt of a place
where all dance in unison
to the wellspring of my ancestors.
Oh I am exhausted
up and down
days.
But still I am not tamed.
Come,
let me rest in this wood a while."

Morning
And I adorn the woods:
Ribbons
Windmills
Bells
To capture the caress of the moisture
Brought in by the sea breeze.
Nods my heart yes, yes, yes!
This is my lady you see.

I had not seen a woman in this life,
only imitations
confusion
lies.

Those sapless, brittle and broken branches;
they caught aflame
given the smallest spark
burnt to ashes.
I sought she of deepest root and strongest stem,
to find her all around.

A home for wild creatures
A home for trees, and moss.
A home for all natural things.
This is the body of a woman
and she is full & generous.
Enough by god, to find me with it!

To build, she takes down
then slowly grows.
To gather, she holds back
then gently yields.
This way I have found that which is lost
comes home to stay.