In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Places.”
Those ancient hills of Devon
carved and sculpted into wild beauty
by millenia of harsh and gentle weather
trampled by roaming sentient creatures
what have they seen,
those silent rocks
exposed above the rough ground?
what colours in the skies above?
what visual poetry have they witnessed
and what forgotten life forms
have died beside them?
should I never again romp those hills
should my eyes close without a final view
or my ears have no last opportunity
to hear birds singing in those English trees
the growl of a distant tractor ploughing a field
and the laughter of my siblings
while the church bells chime out their music
calling the faithful to church in the nearby village
still all of my senses will unfold to the memories
of a child playing and skipping, possessing the world
running up and rolling down those beloved ancient hills.
© Jane Paterson Basil
Daily Archives: March 16, 2015
A Loving Army
This poem is dedicated to Dale, a courageous man with an inspiring blog, who led me to the realisation described in the sonnet.
For years anger and self-pity mirrored my eyes
The drug addiction of others was my vile enemy
Trapped within mother love from which I could not flee
I was terrorised by the manipulation and the lies
Within my house: yet when I became ready to revise
And realise that addicts were victims just like me,
And we were in similar straits, still I couldn’t see
The bigger picture, and recognise all our allies
Whose rebellious chemistry confounds the brain
And their struggling families weep over a similar plight
for their beloved casualties of sex, gambling and pain.
The disease of addiction is the foe that we must fight
If we stand together and tell our truths without shame
We’ll make a loving army, leading others to the light.
© Jane Paterson Basil