There was no way

I’ve written it, so I’ll post it. A lai (last one maybe) for the dverse collection.


There must be a way

To get you to stay;

You planned

On blue sky not grey.

I won’t let you stray,

My hand

Holds you here. Winds play,

Wild, in a ballet

Of sand.


Above the gulls’ screams,

Cloud-clash and rain-streams

I heard

Storm break. No sunbeams

Light the day; it seems


To sail, but your dreams

Make you, in your schemes,

A bird.


Come back, hold me tight,

This cannot be right;

It’s wrong!

No land bird takes flight

In a storm and night

So long.

Wait at least for light,

Glass-green waves curl white

And strong.


You left as dawn broke,

Scarce a word you spoke,

A tear

In your eye. I choke

On goodbye; you joke,

Don’t fear.

Sky wears a black cloak,

A harbinger’s croak

I hear.



On the night lake

Another of Paul Militaru’s photos with the lovely title of Night and snow over birds prompted this poem. Thank you, Paul!


On the night lake, grey gulls glide,

While snow falls thick upon the ride,

Where foxes pad and pheasants hide.

In summer waters small boats plied

Across the lake so smooth so wide,

Where mallards swim and grey gulls glide,

And many came here, sat and sighed

For lovers lost, for lovers died.

While snow falls thick upon the ride,

As cold as tears I’ve shed and dried,

Like stone I sit in lonely pride,

Among the gulls that drift and glide,

And wait for turning time and tide.


It was early in the morning II

The quadrille I just wrote for the dverse prompt was probably too short for the story, so this is the whole thing in ballad form.


It was early in the morning,

And the mist lay on the grass,

When I walked down to the willows,

Thinking how the time will pass,

As quickly as the sun dries

The cool tears of the moon,

If ever we must part, love,

It will always be too soon.


It was early in the morning,

And the mist lay on the ground,

I woke to find you leaving,

You had packed without a sound,

I caught your arm to keep you,

But you shook my hand away,

And your ship sailed on the ebb tide,

For no words could make you stay.


In the light of early morning,

And the fading of the day,

I watch from on the cliff top

For a sail out in the bay,

But the sea that took you from me

Is as silent as the grave,

Where you lie with none to mourn you,

Neath the cold Atlantic wave.


This is a poem inspired by the prompt for Day Four of NaPoWriMo. I’m not certain it fits exactly, but it’s what the prompt brought up. That’s poetry, I suppose.

The photograph ©Poudou is of the Chemin des Dames close to where I used to live in the Aisne.


The dawn breaks coloured blood,

and the roses are in bud,

the roses are in bud.


They say it will be hell,

still rosebuds begin to swell,

rosebuds begin to swell.


Though death sweeps through this room,

the roses are in bloom,

the roses are in bloom.


A country’s churned to mud,

but the roses are in bud,

the roses are in bud.



A Month with Yeats: Day Sixteen

As promised, today’s quote has been bumped up the list to correspond with the poem I wrote yesterday—one of the perks of running the challenge. We often see deer at the bottom near the stream or along the hedge to the west, but yesterday, a young male deer trotted right under the window of the study. I felt honoured. They are timid, keep well away from houses and usually bolt at the slightest sound or movement. He must have felt he had nothing to fear from us.

I’m linking this to the dverse open link night because I like it.


From ‘He Mourns for the Change That Has Come Upon Him and Longs for the End of the World’

‘Do you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns?’—W.B. Yeats


The deer in the meadow


In the mists of early morning,

The frost lay on the ground,

And the songbirds in the garden

Flew by without a sound.


As I watched the mist light swirling

On the meadow, frosty pale,

A deer, horns newly budded,

Stepped through the broken veil.


He stepped across the meadow,

His ears he turned to hear,

If the sound of my sighing,

Was a sound that he should fear.


He stepped up to my window,

With eyes so wild and deep,

As the sea that covers your bed,

Leaving me alone to weep.

Autumn acorn rain

An autumnal poem for the dverse prompt.



The sound of acorns raining on the roadway,

The dry leaf-whisper as the sun goes down,

I hear wings beat in the last light of the evening,

And colours fade to misty grey and brown.

You said you’d find the long road through the oak trees,

And make your home with me where blackbird sings,

But all I see are drifting leaves of gold and flame,

And all I hear is the beat of parting wings.

When winter grips the drifts of fallen leaves,

And the acorn rain is rotted on the ground,

The blackbird huddles on the bare oak bough,

As hope and this cold year both die without a sound.


Songs again. This is in response to the Day 2 quote of Jilly’s challenge:

“That morning the sun forgot to rise”  Jim Harrison.


The morning the deer come no more to the brake,

And the sight of your face is like cloud in blue skies,

When the thrushes are silent along the still lake,

Is the morning the sun will forget how to rise.


When the evening star falls through the oaks in the wood,

And the tides of the ocean cease their ebb and flow,

When the moon’s face reflected is red as shed blood,

Is the evening I’ll tell you I want you to go.

The swans on the lake

For the dverse prompt. One of my favourite songs is She moved through the fair. This is a humble hommage.


As the swans in the evening move over the lake,

I watch and I listen to dusky life wake,

And I think that I see you beyond on the road,

But the sunlight is failing and the day has grown old.


I watch as the evening star wakes in the east,

And the sky turns from eggshell to deep ocean blue,

And I watch and I listen to the fox as he slips

Into the tree shadows, he reminds me of you.


As the swans on the lake settle down to their rest,

And the stars cluster brightly from the east to the west,

I turn my steps homeward with a stone in my heart,

And your words ringing softly, “This is where we part.”


Oceans of stars

A ballad poem because I wanted to.


Stars strain at their moorings,

Ships that pass in the night,

On vast oceans of darkness,

And a path of pale moonlight.


Above the sleeping meadows,

And the stilly mirror lake,

The tide has washed the swans ashore,

and nothing’s left awake.


Stars that ride at anchor

In the harbour of the sky,

Wait for dewy morning

And the snow white swans to fly.


The morning star has faded,

And the swans flown from the lake,

The ocean that took you away

Rolls on though my heart break.

What would I give?

The dverse prompt today is a real challenge. I can write rhyming ballads like breathing, but I’ve never done a nasty one before. This ended up as sweetly sad as usual, but following Kim’s instructions, I changed the last lines and hopefully changed the tone too.

Miranda - The tempest, by John William Waterhouse

What would I give to have you with me,

To sit beneath the scented rose tree,

And watch together the rolling river,

As moonlight glitter bathes us in silver.


Years I would offer of this poor lifetime,

If you’d come back and promise to be mine,

But the rose is falling, fading its scent,

And you never told me where you went.


Your smile was so easy, your mouth ripe and red,

I thought that you loved me though you never said,

We dallied all spring till you went away,

One last kiss you gave me and bid me to stay.


One more day I’ll linger on this grassy bank,

For autumn is coming with mists damp and dank,

In my bones I feel I’ll not see the spring,

Weary of watching for what the tides bring.


Should you come back and I should be dead,

You’ll find I’m still waiting to pour on your head

The lees of the bitter cup you made me drink,

And beneath cold waves I’ll see that you sink.