by Harry Moore
Was with Georgina in the summerhouse.
If life could end
If life could end I would not be
Unhappy for myself although
I wonder how life would go on.
They would not cope I know.
In the universal microcosm
My life is insignificant.
A tree lives longer than I do.
Your voice was all it was to me
Your voice was all it was to me
Across the shadows and by the sea
It came across the wind and wire
Inspired tired but only I could see.
It was a voice not fallen but spent
It was a voice that fell on me
Soft sounding like sand on a soul of repent.
Love is an angel; love is a sound
Sacred as water fresh blessed in the ground
Held in a chalice and borne by the hand.
Drank by the children who lie in the land.
Walking in that little place
Meeting voice and meeting face
Seeing and knowing the two of you
In long black elegance of grace
Gliding, sighing sounds of repent
And in the light of your eyes
The words transcend to saintly scent.
It would seem that should we dream
And scheme to travel together
The heavens would send us a craft
And angels give breath to the sails.
Floating over a city’s circus
Casting an island out of space
Of amber streams, lights and dreams
Silent time, night time is our haven
Of tranquil peace, caressing heaven
Wind whispering calm above the dark
Stark world without; while we within
Can hand on hand and lip to lip, hold on.
If I die tomorrow I have been to heaven
And breathed the breath of angels,
I have felt the grace of their sacred place
From your lips and your embrace.
So it must be and peace must be
Before the door of love stand we
Unblemished hearts, untarnished souls,
Begging that eternity, will bring us home
To simple things, to gentle life
Within the fold of heaven on earth
To walk and talk and love,
And not to die,
Not yet.
When you come to me
When you come to me, we will be
In heaven
When the hours are long, and all time is gone,
We will be,
In heaven
When your voice is near and I touch your face
When the peace you know becomes the light you show
When the pain has gone and our souls are one
We will be in heaven
I shall not slip quietly into the day
I shall not slip quietly into the day
I shall go there with noise
I shall not go there unhurriedly
I shall crash at its gates
And say that I am here.
I woke and thought I was dead
I woke and thought I was dead
Floating to the heavenly mist.
Over rain clouds gathering the sun.
Passing devils and angels,
who fell at my feet.
Then sliding down rainbow
onto the shingle beach.
The sun fell from me
As gold turned grey
And I lay,
Head on the land
and feet in sea.
Awake but yet dead.
Love is an island.
Love is an island. Love is a dream,
Love is a shadow that floats down a stream
Kissing the willow and whistling the wind
A torn sail that flutters and whispers no sound
Down to the river and into the sea
To the island of dreams
For you and for me.
When I die
When I die take me to heaven
Find me a place
In the corner by the window
That I may gaze upon my former life
From this after life
And that names once known to me
Will come back again and again
And my sins will be forgiven
In this after life.
Take me to the spiritual seat
Where only peace reigns
And love constrains
To be with you and me
Now shackled by the calm
Of life in the other life,
The after life.
How can you sing that love is sweet?
How can you sing that love is sweet?
Then walk the pilgrim’s path alone,
A celestial city’s gate to greet,
Where angels cry and saints recite,
And songs in paradise ring out,
From chanted phrase and cloistered book,
And you will step and walk about
Searching for that shepherd’s crook.
How can you sing when love has slept?
As you with me and I with you,
Like blossomed heads of reed we wept,
And only then could comprehend,
That all we knew as forward went,
Would bid us come in pilgrims wake,
To see celestial city’s gate.
Your open heart sees I am here,
And by you looking to the moon,
Who is my blessing, counts me dear,
And walks with me a lonely walk.
Will I not turn to see your face?
Passing with me through the gate,
Paused at the light, turning to say
We are here with saints and angels.
Now fear has gone
I know. Now fear has gone.
I know you cried for me as I for you.
You cried for light and yet more light,
And so I walked across that moor,
To find and bring you what you yearned,
In blinding whiteness blinding eyes,
Encapsulated by the storm,
Flake upon flake from silver skies,
Of crystal yet the morning broke,
To give more light that I could see,
Saint Michael and his heavenward sword.
How foolish was my waking thought?
How selfish was my love for you?
That thought that only I was ought,
Enough, enough for you to be.
What you could be without just me?
Yet, now you linger, waiting there,
There by the stair, the five stepped stair,
That leads to that celestial gate,
Where we can be what we should be,
Eternal, eternal, forever we.
Sorrow was and sorrow is
Sorrow was and sorrow is
A homely place for me.
Where comfort comes in cosset clouds
And peace in parcels scatters round
The cushioned couch on which I lie
Disguising, hiding all from me
The world, the wild consuming world
That is beyond my scope to know
For all is sad and it prevails
Like one small glove that lingers there
With musty smell and musty grace
To bring me to that homely place
Where I can be as only me
Where I can see as I can see
That sadness is a happy place
A blanket place
Of chocolate warmth and milky smell
A warm and welcome shallow well
It will not change.
There I can sink
And I can wallow
In happiness
Because I am there
Where sorrow is.
The weed chopping woman
I went down to the waterfront
To see the weed chopping woman
Taking fingers of green from out of the sea
And splicing and cutting make shapes in the sun.
I took her an apple, the fruit that I had
And asked her to splice it, to show my intrigue.
She drew from her bosom the dagger of life
And carved me a mermaid of orange and green.
The mermaid she threw though an arch to the sea
And waited to see how far she would swim.
We waited forever until the sun grew
And saw the maid rise then sink steadily.
I do not want her to die unhappy
I do not want her to die unhappy
Knowing how I feel and how I am
And knowing my unhappiness
I was and am the first and so
The diamond not the damned in her eyes
The one that she could boast about
The one that was like him
The one she loved
I did not want her to die unhappy
But when she did I did not know
Living in that hedgerow world
Though haunted dreams had made her real
Through scarlet screaming in the night
That led to the discovery of
The ring she kept
And I never knew
I do not want her to die unhappy
Thinking I loved another more
And that it was betrayal; nothing more
Than child love, obsession with purity and pure
Unblemished adoration of something fair
Something smiling that lit a room
And brought joy
And children
I do not want her to die unhappy
Wondering if it was a waste
To wait by the window for the footfall
Thinking love would bury or hide her pain
Knowing all that was left in this shell of me
Was still worth the waiting
Through absent nights
And black skies.
Vulnerability
As you stood frozen on that ancient wall
I was suddenly aware of your ancient fear.
Your façade of strength and of coping well
Was pierced by the spear acrophobia.
You would not move. You would not stir.
You beckoned flushed in face.
I came to you and took your hand
And gradually we walked.
Stone by stone by slippery stone,
Over crumbling granite and moss.
I led you by your warm damp hand
To the ancient tower that brought us.
Do not look down I whispered back
Not knowing that your trust was whole
And all the way your eyes were closed
And I knew by your trust that I loved you.
Broken wing
In the fern and green felt by the foot of the tree
Lay the bird with the broken wing.
Hit by a hawk on a curve and a swoop
And dazzled by sun it had not seen
Down umbrellas of leaf through brown broken beech
It fell like a pillow through snow
Softly and gently through catkins and cupules
Clutching and grasping
At speckled green ivy that ran like a snake
Up and down tree trunk, mottled branch, twig.
One wing fluttering and one in distress
Until branch broke from leaf
The bird fell to the earth
And lay
Quietly, painfully breathing.
Sun fell away and the moon kissed the earth
With crystal shower and the bird lay quite still
Hearing starry nocturne and crying calls
And animal pads crossing tangled cool moss
Of blue bell leaves and wooded shoots through bracken boughs.
It lay and it slept and dreamed of flight
Whilst night owls hunted and web winged blind bats
Flew in carousels round the gnarled trunk of life
Catching unseen, unheard, grey winged petals
Under limelight, moonlight and acolyte stars.
Predators prowled and the bird crept and crawled
And found the dark hole by the felt and the fern
Then slept and slept until the pain
Slept too
Peacefully, through long silver night
Stars followed moon and sun warmed the meadow
And the bird was awake with wide pebbled eyes
Listening to songs that fell from above
Down alcove umbrellas of dark green grove love
A song that it knew, older than this great tree
With chipper and chirrup and treble toned trill
Through morning wet foliage it fell and it fell
And bid the bird upwards and up the tree climb
With scramble and flutter and pain in the wing
Yet upward it climbed to the song that it knew
To the brown branch from where the young ones first flew
It outstretched two wings though one was quite still.
The warm amber air rose with the sun and it lifted
Both wings and the bird from the tree
And it flew
With broken wing flew, and it flew, and it flew.
The Memory Tree
Today I walked to the Memory Tree,
And thought of that night long past,
When she walked with me at midnight,
My little girl, hand holding, wrapped and warm,
Six of age with searching mind, expectant eyes,
As midnight came with frost on snow,
White icing on a Christmas cake
Crisp on top and soft beneath
Below the clear clean sky of black
Where jewel stars lay deep in space
And lit our way.
Into the field of winter wheat,
Whose deep green shoots broke through the ice.
We hugged the hedgerow between spires,
One mile from church to church,
Me and my golden girl of rosy face,
And down the slope, down to the brook
Down by the hedge of blackthorn trails
And over stile and fence on to the tree,
Waiting, hoping that we might come
Bare, black and leafless, fingers searching
Into the sky
Touch it once to leave a memory, good or bad,
I said.
She did and smiled.
Touch it again to collect one, good or bad,
I said.
She did and looked away,
Sadness in her eyes,
Sadness not for her but another one,
And so we walked reflective back,
Crunching ice and snow.
Now I go back, not every day,
An older man, I touch the tree,
To try to find and reach and clutch,
Some memory of my little girl,
Who is not there,
But has gone away.
I would like to will myself to die
I would like to will myself to die
To do it without wilt or sigh
And pass away, quietly.
To move into that other place
Of tranquil peace and silent grace
And rest, easily.
To feel oblivion’s warmest cloak
Round body, heart and silent throat
And sleep, perfectly.
And when you hear that I am gone
And think of all the things I’ve done
You’ll weep, happily.
