Nearly (a ‘Big Triku’ poem)

A singular roar;

the horizon bends as stars

decorate the void.

~

Deep in the back of my seat,

I force my bellows open slowly,

and hold back as I breathe out.

~

Drawn back, I follow

a sickening ellipse – thrust

gone, new orbit lost.

Big Triku ‘Winter’s End’

I had time to think,

standing by the sea. My main

challenge is clear – me.

~

Suddenly, I feel full of

hope. I know what to do, to become

the person I aspire to.

~

But first I shall stay,

to be one with this world of

passing winter grey.

Standing Up Again

Note: the poem in this post is the same as in the last post from early this morning – the difference is the photo; I went to the location that is the main setting of the poem and took this photo today, under the tree; whereas the previous photo, which I also like, is the beach on the coast in front, where the breeze brushes around the rocks and ‘vraic’ (a Channel Islands term for seaweed). This post shows both of these photos 🙂

I’m sorry that I lost my way

to end up here, beneath this tree,

its withered branches reaching low

to touch the ground, and shelter me.

~

Bracken wavers in the breeze,

that blew across the bay, below;

that brushed around the rocks, and vraic;

that found – past land – its upward flow.

~

A small seed traces through my gaze,

bobbing round, a spectre borne

in secret air; I watch it each

way torn, now trapped upon a thorn.

~

A bee appears, darts directly

to the wind, shoots up high,

and joins in currents of the air

to vanish quickly in the sky.

~

The wind now breaks inside my den

and rushes coldly through my heart,

I know the time is come for me

to let my foolish worries part.

~

With so much good, why should I fear

I’ll helplessly be drawn away?

I’ll choose my mind and set my course and

live, still better, every day.

Standing Up Again

I’m sorry that I lost my way

to end up here, beneath this tree,

its withered branches reaching low

to touch the ground, and shelter me.

~

Bracken wavers in the breeze,

that blew across the bay, below;

that brushed around the rocks, and vraic;

that found – past land – its upward flow.

~

A small seed traces through my gaze,

bobbing round, a spectre borne

in secret air; I watch it each

way torn, now trapped upon a thorn.

~

A bee appears, darts directly

to the wind, shoots up high,

and joins in currents of the air

to vanish quickly in the sky.

~

The wind now breaks inside my den

and rushes coldly through my heart,

I know the time is come for me

to let my foolish worries part.

~

With so much good, why should I fear

I’ll helplessly be drawn away?

I’ll choose my mind and set my course and

live, still better, every day.

Big Triku ‘The Top?’

I turn a corner,

to face the gradual rise

of another hill.

~

When I reach the end, by the

blue sky, will it only be to see

the path continue upward?

~

Surely some corner,

before the clouds, will show the

glorious summit?