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!)

Just a thought

The traffic lights near home were not working today. It's a busy & awkward junction. People were carefully crossing, waiting, waving each other on & moving gingerly. The traffic was still moving steadily from all 4 roads, just slotting in, no aggressive pushing. The queues were less that 5 cars long in any direction.
So it made me think, "If there were a few less rules, if we were ordered about a little less in our daily lives, would we become a little more gentle with each other and help each other solve our joint problems with a little more care? Would life flow a little more slowly and a little more smoothly?"
Of course there are always selfish people, but if the rest of us are careful, does it matter? Just let them go on their selfish way. If there were any selfish people on the road today I didn't see them, and I crossed the junction twice at busy times.

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

.
.
.
.
.










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!