Shifting, surely swiftly,
She calls, I tell her
I feel, the pull
Her call
Wait, still
while I wait
Soon it will
all move forward
the wait is long
the wait is hard
Sea song sweetly sings in my ear
From afar, I still hear her
Moving closer
Won't be long,
almost there,
We shall be near
You will see
I shall sing your song
The sea, you and me
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
....
....
....
Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the Children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
....
....
....
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
And she dances,
her heart beating to the sound of the waves of the sea
And she sings,
to the song of the skies and the sea
And she smiles,
her eyes like sparkling sea shells
Untitled I
I shall dip deep, dive in
brushing off
strokes, smooth, choppy,
slapping, stirring, mixing
colours painting
picturing images
creating afresh,
anew
the joy,
the movement,
the inspirations,
the work,
the looking, the doing,
life in colours
pastels, oil,
bold, blurry,
bright and strong.
Untitled II
Open to possibilities
surge of ideas
the picture in front
forming
yet, dissolving
and then, a stronger image
of something unravelling,
unfolding,
as the dawn from east,
as the first breeze,
as the first birdsong,
as the first taste,
as the morning fresh,
new and ready.
Of vast open skies,
the blues, the hues,
cerulean, cobalt, aquamarine,
white for foam and green,
shades of the new palette,
titanium white, clouds, ochre sun.
Mist and winds will blow,
through open landscapes will go,
chiming clock, bells and tower.
Lighthouse, wharfs, pleasant bower,
peaceful bay, steps down the water,
horizon sunset reaching the harbour.
The lengths, the widths, the air
the space, the breath, the fair,
playful town of freedom,
the adventure awaiting,
a fresh new canvas from
which a new painting.
The preparing, oh, the sharing.
Easy gets harder, one by one, declaring,
adieu and farewell to this, without lies;
the squares and the heights, the city lines and city skies,
the sacred spaces, the familiar faces,
the shitty places, the unfriendly faces,
the good spots, the special shops,
soon memories, like melting dewdrops,
for new routes and trajectories
the paths we shall walk
the promenades where we'll talk.
And inside the heart is light
as each heavy farewell in sight
as each precious piece, ready for release,
the concerns, slowly lifted
my soul and body already drifted
from the river to the sea
carried by the Thames of pains
to the Sea of new views, new window banes
The sadness, carried floating down the river
Once in the sea, lost forever,
and the joy of the new life ahead,
the fresh new start,
like the first morning bread;
it's time to part.
(For soon we shall part from London and go to Margate,
the last posts here are about the journey)
Copyright © Mark Massey
