Revival

 Revival

Arrival

Come alive 

We're back

for now

I still want to be here

That much is clear

But words seem slow,

They just don't flow

I still got rhymes,

Like old times

The rhythm is lost in a pudding like mess of thoughts that used to arrange themselves quite well

See what I  mean.

They're Back

Fluttering in the guttering,

Rustling on the roof,

Chirping round the chimney, 

As if you needed proof,

That sparrows are back.

For Abi

For Abi

Won’t complain about fairness,

She never asked for that.

Won’t ask, “Why?”

There were so many reasons.

Won’t think about the tough bits,

Most of it was.

Won’t wonder about “what if,”

It isn’t.

But I think about the loneliness,

And the pain and the fear,

And the unhappiness.

And I remember the strength

And the courage and the trying

And the friendship …

I lost a friend yesterday – had only text chatted with her the day before. Everything about her life was a monumental uphill struggle and her body gave up! She leaves a mother, 2 sisters & a brother … and a 12 year old daughter. Few others will mourn her passing … few will even notice. Can’t stop thinking about a lonely lady, dying alone … 

Full Flood

Full Flood

The river, a wild animal,

Tears at its banks to be loosed of restriction,

Snarling round bridges,

Charging ferociously, hungry for prey.

The lamb; the kitten of summer,

Is grown to full size,

No more the gentle swirl, the playful trickle.

It lashes at trees, tearing them,

Throwing debris to the side,

As it gouges its way to freedom,

Its fearful strength untamed,

Its destructive nature unleashed.

Mick

25/11/12

I Wish

I wish

I wish that we could see the way,
That every hour of every day,
That every we time we turn to say,
“I wish,” we meant “I will…”

I wish intending good would really turn,
And with the saying hearts would burn
To do those things for which we yearn,
And so “I wish” becomes, “I will.”

I wish that love or peace were something more,
That wishing only stands outside the door,
But open wide our hearts and more,
We help to turn “I wish,” into “I will!”

November 2010

Old Friends

I’m saddened, how I overlook the love that I once held so dear.
As if to lose a precious thing and glimpse it through the mist,
And then on meeting, feel the aching hurt and shed a tear,
For love that’s lost and tender lips unkissed.

Lost poem

When my old web site sank gently out of sight, it took with it some rather provocative social, moral, legal & political "Ponderings." I don't feel very provocative these days, but it was a shame to lose the banner from the page, so here it is.

"Mick Pondering"
by Adrian Richardson (Watercolour & Ink)

When all around is turmoil,
And life a little bleak,
I creep into the garden,
And take a little peek,
At what goes on around us.

Under stones and in the leaves,
The richly teeming life.
Webs and grubs and eggs and bones,
Distracts us from the strife,
That usually surrounds us.

But in the pond, a wonderland,
A world of gloom and still,
Where creatures lurk and stare at us,
And marvel at the ills,
That easily confound us.

New Year thoughts

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And then one day
When all is said and little done,
We’ll just stand still and count the cost,
And see what’s gained and what is lost,
And what is left to do.

And then we’ll see
The stones unturned and furrows still unploughed,
The chances that we’ve had and missed,
The smiles unmoved, the lips unkissed,
The gentle words unsaid.

We have the chance
To see the things we should have tried, but failed,
We’ll take the vow to make amends,
The jobs undone, neglected friend,
And try again.

But at that time
If there is nothing left to think or do or say,
Then p’raps it’s time for us to fade away …

Finally

Finally 

 Is the mountain still too steep? 

I think not, my step is light. 

Can I see the peak from here? 

Does it really matter? T

he scene below breath-taking! 

The climb lifts me to a different height. 

 Have I reached the top? 

Who can tell? 

Not I! 

Is this the peak I searched for? 

Or has the perspective changed the shape? 

How can I know? 

Do I need to? 

 The importance is the journey. 

This one done. 

This one finally complete. 

Do I need to tread this way again, 

Or seek this path, 

Or brave these rocky crags? 

 No, I think not, 

But there are other peaks 

With other views, 

With different ends, 

With easier tracks, 

Or harder. 

 From here the possibilities expand, 

To tread a thousand peaks, 

And tracks and rocks and valleys. 

The challenges forever there, 

But I can choose this route, 

Or that.

 Never again? 

Finally? 

Well that matters not at all. 

The journey beckons, 

The adventure, the exploration, 

And they will always call. 

And if the path leads to the top then … So it will. 

 For Dee

(Later addition ...  the power of the internet - this poem brought Mortimer back to us ... see his comment ... my blog is worthwhile after all ...)

The Search

Do you know the thing you’re searching for?
Do you know just where to look?
Is it stood behind a tight locked door?
Is it written in a book?

Is it swirling in the flowing stream?
Does it drift across the sky?
Is it melting in a hazy dream?
Is it caught behind his eyes?

Is it blowing in the misty wind?
Is it deep beneath the ground?
Is it held within a wise man’s mind?
Will you know when it’s been found?

Do your closest friends hold the answers?
Do the games you play reveal?
Does the love you make bring you chances?
What you look for, is it real?

Is it there inside you all the time?
Does the searching bring relief?
Is it crouching there within your mind?
Is it linked to your belief?

And when perhaps the answers seem clear,
Will it bring the peace you seek?
Or will you still keep looking through fear,
Till you reach the final sleep?

Retrospect

The snare, set long before it closed,
So slow did it grasp, that my brain was locked tight,
The trap springing, unfelt, unseen.

Entangled by the net of mind,
Struggle closing the binding mesh round my thought,
Then, just falling into the tomb.

No place to run, no crack could hide,
Daily life seen only as a distant blur,
Normal routine things as cage bars.

Release, a candle flame away,
Creeping slowly from the ........
.............deep shadowed cave depths,
To emerge, wary, still unsure.

The track from below, steep, unmarked,
Escape seemed flimsy, unclear, pretended strength,
Liberty only paper thin.

Then came the unexpected chance,
The air blew clear, the hidden bonds flew shattered,
Freed by the freshness of your hope.

And now perhaps grown stronger still,
Guarding against traps, confident of the road,
And aware of growing chances.

How could you know or see the need?
Or did I just take it from what’s always you?
Did you not feel the healing flow?

The in-between moments.

There’s a place back in time
When my footsteps fell light,
Where I knew I was safe,
With the sky clear and bright.

But the in-between moments
Take my strength, take my sight,
Leave me weak with despair,
And lost in the night.

At that place back in time,
I could see and was sure
My resistance was high,
And my feelings secure.

In the in-between moments
My mind disappears,
The cold eats my bones,
The terrors are near.

In the place back in time
As expectations ascend
I felt love and concern,
I knew I had friends.

Just the in-between moments
Rekindle my fears,
Gnaw into my sleep,
Melt my hopes down to tears.

19/12/01

Poem

Forlorn

No one knows what it’s really like,
No one ever will,
Locked in our own private torment,
Our own private hell.

I’m sure that we have all been there,
In that place, alone,
Where the clouds gather and darken,
And the skies are torn.

Nothing can ease that deep brooding,
It seems at the time,
But clouds lift and thin every morning,
The outlook is fine.

Put dark thoughts away in a cupboard,
Hide clouds in the sun.
Look back in a while when you can,
You will find them gone.

(So I did refine it a bit after all!)

Moon 1

Am I alone?

Staring down,
Seeing my every move,
Watching with a large white eye.

Seeing you,
Wherever you are,
Sleeping, dreaming, staring back?

Are you aware of it?
Does it catch your eye?
Does it haunt you and follow you?

Am I alone,
Or do you share?
Am I the only one in this gaze?

Does it touch you?
Do you feel its white scrutiny?
Does it carry you beyond reality?

Are you like me,
Defeated by the strength,
In the control of the white watcher?

Or am I alone?

Moon 2

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Set Free

Thoughts fly like the clouds
Driven by that unrelenting glare
Flying free beyond the reach of normal
Lost in the open desert of the sky
Where dreams and daily life merge in fantasy.

to Mannix Point

Now is not the time
Nor this the place for sadness,
But a stay and respite
From the torment of our routine madness.


This was in the back of a sketchbook with 2 pages of watercolour sketches.

The finished piece is framed on the wall in Mortimer's campsite. There's another one for the same place if I can find the right sketchbook!

Summer 1987

Water Thoughts 5

Lonely Beach

Left behind by tide
Overlooked by time,
Natures dustbin.
Endless sand,
Littered bits of shells and
Yellowing weed.

Broken wood from worn out ships,
Each piece telling its lonely tale,
After Autumn's final fling,
Clawed by early storms,
Home to hungry gulls
.............................................and me.

Started Jan 1984, continued Dec 1984, finished Oct 1986

Yes I would alter a few words for style, but I still like this one as it is! It brings back surfing memories!

Water Thoughts 4

Water

Washing up the pebbled beach,
Against the rocky cliff,
Through dark and hidden caves,
Each swirl in tree hung pool,
Rushing streams and rivers flow.

1986

The worst of the bunch really. Beth is correct when she says my style has changed. Then I was satisfied with pretty pictures, raw emotions just poured out and satisfying phrases; now I want meaning to accompany them. Reasons, conclusions, purpose, analysis, insight ... But I'm not going to alter them.

Water Thoughts 3

Rivers

Rushes bend and sway,
Icy fingers creep,
Valleys snowbound lie,
Entwined in winters sleep,
Ragged sheets of jagged ice,
Show rivers too caught in the vice of cold.

1986

A bit bland, but I would not alter it even now!

Water thoughts

What do you do when you go surfing and there is no surf? Well in my case I carved bits of wood and made notes to write into poems. There are 5 from 1984 to 86. I taught children to write a variety of forms for poetry. These days I would quickly scan something someone else has written. In those days, pre National Curriculum, I shared the process of converting my notes into poems. This is why these poems ended up as acrostics and a "shape" poem. Let's start with that one.

I can't remember if the spelling mistake was accidental or included to make the shape work, or whether I wanted a bit of hiss in the crash!