“The celandine’s in flower again
It’s early days of spring
The cycle starts again once more
Ah, hear the blackbird sing
The winding path beside the stream
White clouds sail slowly by
All’s still just like some sort of dream
And yet she had to cry
Once more life’s cycle is renewed
Once more false hope is here
Like just another calm prelude
For villainy is near
These yellow petals growing bright
The Celandine seems sweet
And whilst they’re pleasing as a sight
All love is in retreat”
Over the last decade and more I have watched a small hazel grow into a lovely well formed tree. It has been worth the wait. It carried its first few nuts last year. It inspired this:-
A Hazel nut that fell last fall
Was sprouting on that hill
Mid stones from some old tumbling wall
Where soil had lost its chill.
Its verdant leaves could get full sun,
Good fast growth could be made.
Before too many years were done
Folk would enjoy their shade.
A hazel switch might well be used
To chastise man or boy,
Though sweetest things might be abused
Where they ought bring great joy.
Resiliently will Hazels grow,
Despite big Oaks and shade,
As they seek out the Sun’s sweet glow
Around each wood and glade.
A Holly bush it grew there too,
Was green throughout the year
And close by was a bank of rue,
That herb grows lush round here.
This Hazel bent in mighty gales
That tore down Oak and Ash.
It witnessed many dreadful ails,
Saw ancient houses crash.
It watched the fickleness of Fates.
It lived long in folklore.
And as each passing storm abates
It springs back straight once more.
© T Morgan 15.2.2016
How unpredictable are events!
Whirligig of change
There’s a series of things,
A sequence of events
That flows from cause to consequence.
They can be put straight down to chance
Or blamed upon mere happenstance
And some may say with sad laments
That Satan set the circumstance.
Although we’re vexed, well, maybe
From chaos and complexity,
About the way that things may go
And where they’ll lead us who can know.
As consequence becomes new cause
Events flow on without a pause;
For they seem linked like endless chain
That rattles along and past again.
As in a gapless, seamless dance
We’re driven on by hapless chance.
A whirligig of spirals flow
And where they’ll take us
Who can know?
Yes – there’s a series of things
A chain of events
That runs ‘tween cause and consequence…
© T Morgan, 1st May 2002, revised 2016
Debate can be a waste of breath
Now fundamental Zealots will
Cause folly and cause shocks.
Believing in creation still
They argue with old rocks.
They say all fossils have been formed
In just ten thousand years.
As well as methods too unsound;
They’ve stuffed wax in their ears.
All fossils in the rock and mud,
Those dinosaurs and birds,
Were caused by only that one flood;
They won’t be swayed by words.
Geologists should all beware
Religious zeal and ire.
Zealots with their glassy stare
May burn them in a fire!
© Trevor Morgan 17 October 2003
There are some who look back through their tinted glasses and imagine some good old days or even a golden age. They seem to wish for an illusion. There are the few today who would be part of an oligarchy. Perhaps this is because they are effective at the acquisition of wealth and so they think they would be effective as rulers of the whole world.
The gibbet and the rope
The blood soaked block, the axe
With kings who conquer Hope
How can our kind relax?
The blood that’s on the ground
The poison in the cup
With all of this around
Oh, come now, do drink up
The hate that will not pass
The blood that’s left a stain
More will be and surpass
The past with all it’s pain
The strong who do not care
With so much spite and hate
Indifferent they stare
Is all this down to fate?
The gibbet and the rope
More blood drips from the sword
The thugs that kill all hope
It’s throttled with their cord
The power of the few
May well be turned on each
In this there’s nothing new
Good times are out of reach
from Aelfread and Gudrum (2003)