Ode to an English Village by the Sea

Boscastle, Cornwall, UK (c) SJ Murphy

I.

Whitewashed walls, fresh paint year on year
Dry stone walls herd rapids, don’t run wild.
“Floods hit this town” yon tourists flocked to hear,
“Waters ran from yonder hills”. Man and child
Sought safety, rooftops, high ground far and near.
Only the brave, or foolish, as big butch Oscar Wilde
Stayed low as waters rushing passed, cleared
Shop signs, chairs and cars until, all was reconciled.

II.

Winds raise the sea and waves rush in and smash,
But summer’s beauty, like the softest velvet kiss
Rebuts the storm, a distant memory, in a flash
Maelstrom launched from mind to yonder abyss.
Thousands of miles the Swallow comes to dash
And dance, and swoop and sway. Would be remiss
If bells and drums stayed silent, hit and bash,
Rejoice, embrace this softest velvet bliss.

Pop along to http://dversepoets.com/ and have a look at some wonderful Odes – thanks for the prompt Gay !! I was very much “out of my comfort zone” but thoroughly enjoyed writing this one 🙂

Advertisements

Bricks May Crumble …

(c) SJ Murphy

Bricks
just a few, blood red:
the outer layer
the protective layer
SMASHED away:
like open wounds
where infection waits – with baited breath –
to pounce – to infect
the stream of blood with thoughts
of pain – of thoughts long lost.
Thoughts – dead and buried – but for the slightest –
open wound –
a speck of flesh, lifted –
raw, red raw.
Like a building – proud and tall –
tall and strong –
with just the slightest –
open wound –
exposed and waiting for excruciating pain
to be felt through the core –
to send the body –
twisting, thrashing –
until almost bent double –
but the core is strong, foundations firm and
walls stand, they will not fall.

An occasional brick may crumble
but the building defends against
all the elements thrown;
the driving winter hail
has come and gone;
the frost has bitten
and let way for summer sun;
and the hottest summer sun has blasted
laser heat onto southern facing walls.

But strong stand the walls –
defended against all that had been thrown against them –
and just as the bricks, the walls, the building
soak the driven pain into it’s rooms
and sway the minutest of movements –
so –
the human core, swaying, just slightly –
with an occasional;
gust of wind, sudden hailstorm, kick in the teeth;
takes strength, soaks the cold, the pain, the heat
and stands tall –
with just a tiny blemish, one raw, red raw
crumbled brick that won’t allow the core –
to dissolve.