Real Poetry for Real Women
All poems Copyright
Rod Walford
www.rodwalfordpoet.com
Smashwords Edition 2011
T
HE
HEART OF WINTER
Spring is for the spirit that is young and wild and free
Summer is the time for being all you want to be;
Autumn is a moment for reflecting on the past;
To gather strength in readiness for winter’s icy blast.
So easy is the living when the sun is warm and bright
How vivid is its contrast with the chill of winter’s night!
When golden amber turns into the frosty white of dawn,
And you walk the hard road, haunted by the wicked winter’s scorn...
Remember whence your courage and your character were found…
‘Twas surely not in Autumn’s gold nor springtime’s fertile ground.
Nor summer’s blissful soft embrace, sweet as her kiss may be…
Oh no! it was another steeped in cold adversity.
Like an iceberg in the ocean, we have hidden strengths below,
They are formed in life’s cold waters from our tears of melting snow.
So the heart that beats within you, as it pulses, like a star
Never must forget those winters...... for they made you what you are.
The Dewdrop and the Rose
Love
is in the morning dewdrop that enfolds his moist embrace
‘Round
the newly dawning rosebud as she turns her pastel face
To the
glory of the sunrise... then she bids her last goodbyes
To the
night-time’s fading shadows... and the splendour of the skies.
In
the gleaming mellow sauna of the slowly rising mist
Comes her
haunting recollection of the moment they had kissed;
Then his
velvet charms en-trance her as they linger and abide
Like fairy
seeds of dandelion upon a fairground ride.
As the rosebud
gently opens and the dewdrop falls away
With his dying remnants
fading in the newborn warmth of day
Glowing petals
bloom and shimmer with a beauty rich and rare
And a radiance that,
but for love, could not have lingered there.
Somewhere deep
within the darkness, in the confines of the night
Love had cast
its jewelled sequins in the silver moon’s soft light.
There is
power in the healing whose caress all life sustains
He may vanish
with the sunlight, but his legacy remains.
He came not with
cries of passion, nor with promises of power
But with grace, in
love abiding through the silence of the hour.
In her dreams and
smiles and sorrows, still his spirit shall remain
As it was from
the beginning ... and will surely be again.
A Stable Friendship
How
soon the summer leaves have cooled and changed to amber gold!
And
with the season’s turn, my mind revisits times of old.
Sweet
morning mists, warm summer days and eventide’s soft bliss,
With
crowning golden sunsets – England’s summer evening kiss.
‘Twas
in that sleepy Sussex village, by the Rother’s tranquil
course,
Where first we met, we keepers of the garden and the
horse;
Where smoothest flank and quarters hind that found my eyes
returning
Were not that born of equine form, nor of a fleeting
yearning.
Oh No! ‘twas something finer still, – a mystical
attraction,
I longed that she would feel it too, that spark, that
hot reaction.
Damn the conscience which prohibits what a married
man could say
To a jodhpur wearing princess when she’s feeding
horses hay.
What magic in those honeyed curls, where sunbeam’s
playful dancing
Would frame her pastel eyes and lips, bewitching,
all-entrancing!
Such jewels there would dance, like silver salmon
in a stream;
So that just to stand beside her was a living,
breathing dream.
Her speech so eloquent, refined, – its
strange hypnotic power
Would ever linger in my mind, caress each
passing hour.
Her very nearness spurred my pulse to race, and
heart to hammer,
As such charisma and panache would any man
enamour!
There
was just a hint of perfume – it was Lentheric’s “mystique”
As
it mingled with the saddle soap, thus would my ardour peak.
‘Midst
the hay and straw and barley, and the bridles in a row,
Precious
moments in her presence were the best I’d come to know.
Oh!
how we laughed and chatted in that little tack room stall
Where we
had our tea and biscuits as we watched the snowflakes fall.
While
her heart was light and happy then, my own was close to breaking,
And
the horses munched their haynets, of their daily feed partaking;
On
the day I found my courage, and I told her how I felt,
She
confessed there was another, and I felt my spirit melt.
But he had
a guilty secret, he betrayed a woman’s trust
Just like me, he
was a victim of the war ‘twixt love and lust.
Yet I saw
beyond her fragile pose, and feelings that controlled me;
The
mirrors of her soul belied the words which her lips told
me.
Vibrations from her heart were stronger than her spoken
word,
Which made our farewell . . . madness, to the point of the
absurd.
Though the voice of reason begged me, I had banned it
from my ears,
So all-consuming was the beauty of her five and
twenty years;
But her wisdom, it was stronger, and it touched me
to the core;
While the lust went undefeated, it was love that won
the war.
So, for her I wrote “The Eagle” – at the time I
didn’t know it,
That a decade down the line, they would consider
me a poet.
Yes, our parting was sweet sorrow, she was tender, she
was fine,
Though I have no part of her life . . . she’s forever
part of mine.
MY
BUTTERFLY
Standing at my window, with the evening sun above,
I could feel you touch my heartbeat with your special kind of love.
And I let its warmth surround me, and the glow within your shield;
Not a sunset, nor a rosebud, or a mother’s touch could yield.
I watched a passing Monarch, on the summer breeze she flew,
And her soft, enchanting loveliness reminded me of you.
Then I noticed something special, and it touched me to the core
It was more than just her beauty... ‘twas the burden that she bore.
‘Neath her wings of flaming orange, she was carrying within
Her tiny feet... a dying member of her kith and kin.
Though its wings were torn and tattered, and its little heart forlorn
There’d be power in the healing of the dewy mists of morn.
Once before, I’ve seen such courage, and I knew this was a sign
In the glory of that butterfly, I felt your hand in mine.
And the life she gave her soul mate, through her brave heart, strong and free...
It was mirrored in the echoes of the love you’ve shown to me.
When my heart was sad and heavy, and my wings were torn and frayed
You lifted up my life again, we laughed... and then we prayed.
The Lord rejoiced to hear your voice. He knew what I had seen…
You’ll always be my butterfly... my Monarch... and my Queen.
My Dreamworld
Welcome to my dreamworld...It’s a place inside my head
I shouldn’t really live there...so I’ve often heard it said.
In point of fact I relish it! The reason is, you see
It’s much more to my liking than is cold reality.
In my dreamworld there’s no rudeness or malevolence to face
And all my friends negotiate with courtesy and grace.
And I in turn respond to them with kindness and respect;
Nobody in my dreamworld suffers disdain or neglect.
When someone in my dreamworld makes a promise, then I know
I can take their word of honour as their virtue deems it so;
I stand upon that surety ... in trouble or delight
They say they will, I know they will... I don’t perceive they might!
Psychology’s a funny thing, and everyone’s adroit
When criticising others for the actions they exploit.
Yet, here within my dreamworld, there is time enough to linger;
The quiet voice of reason turns the harsh accusing finger.