CARLE, 1 january 2012
So tender is the night
when you lie love with me
when all the world is still
and the clock says half past three
I look upon your woman face
you gave your world to me
sleeping sound and peacefully
dreams of love for me
gently I kiss your lips
and thrill at thoughts of more
I love you so much it seems
can ever there be more?
CARLE, 1 january 2012
And the farm endured
seven fields to forty acres
the days of my father
saw grass and crops rotate
his toiling obsession now spent
gave way to a bigger scale
the old house storeyed
by one and a half
the bedroom where I slept
in the shadow of an older brother
the roof of grey slate
the peak of my world
reached a childhood sky
the overgrown garden
the consequence of labours elsewhere
the sycamore tree
my view of a world outside
the patch of monkshood remained
where I trapped bees in a jar
the fuchsia bush with flowers to pick
and suck nectar from within
the old dirt track road
the start of a jouney far beyond
the realm of a farm
and the dreams of a boy
CARLE, 31 december 2011
And he saw it now and then
the lamp lit row of houses that
stretched beyond the eye
houses where men who dug black
slept and drank when they could
ageless cobbles pried on
men who fought in the street
over want, women and work
while little men sons played
foolish games of childhood
daughter women with prams
mothered their plastic dolls
and the wives gossiped about
young Sally who had a belly
by John Stout the butcher boy
the reverend Ellis
knew all the stories and chapters
of life in this coal dust street
he birthed them baptised them
married and buried them
and the street was quiet
no vehement voices tonight
as the deed of death
slipped over the cobbles
and gripped a sleeping soul.
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