Poems III

Posted on

A selection of poems by China Hamilton

 

The Horse

In my consciousness she shadowed at my side,
From this day on to teach and be my guide.
I knew so well that bright and trusting face,
Those eager eyes and posture full of grace.
That mind alive with all conviction and asureity,
Belief and energy beggar no such ambiguity.

The small and confident deftly seeking hand
Found mine and I heard her say,
“Come ease the troubles of your mind,
And through these old sun sprinkled trees,
Come walk with me.”

“Be not the mare that feared unthinking owners harsh rebukes.
That took upon her sweating back,
All their introverted, viscous insecurities.
Instead from this day on,
Know again my presence and unshaken deep belief
Never to be stolen by doubts deceptive thief.
Hold me tightly adult me.
My confidence and your deep understanding
Together once again a power,
Just as the mare once free will lift her head and cry,
These miles of glowing desert sand my pasture all until I die.”

 

The Thirteenth Day

How one opens the sepulchre of the mind,
To, when one least expects,
The portal wide and welcoming,
Ushers in a dawning moment that begins it all.

You are so complex, intricate and woven
Like the finest tapestry stitched by Elvin hands
In the darkest caverns of eternity,
Fashioned in the blood of all perversity.

So Fate has laid upon its gourmet plate,
A feast to savour tasting each rare flavour,
Of this woman that is you.
The pallet succulent, refreshed and new.

The best of all entangled twine,
Like fruit born grapes upon the vine
A loving tryst that treads to wine
Dark, ruby red, refreshing and divine.
A day to celebrate your repeated birth,
Rising now with strength bound so with purpose,
The seeds have started growing in their fragile ground
Strong saplings seeking sunshine so profound.

 

A Woman of Nature

Chased flowers wilt before my lovers bower,
Wild curling grasses soften bare foot tread.
Mountains mystery mist entwines her passage forth,
As playful sunbeams gurgle in the brook.

Ancient Nature draws the city’s grasping hold,
Child of spirits freedom where she roams.
Dark inviting homes within the mother oak.
Dappled sun-rays forms her leaf strewn cloak.

She hears the murmurs, chants and spells,
That hover hiding massive stones.
Barrows burrow woodland rabbits homes
Memories just as fresh as cut grass smells.

 

Her Birthday

What can one dream,
When the Wind Horse strides the Clouds
They that are so much our sweetest dreams.
And once a year your Birthday comes,
Reminder of the start of all
That is life’s lengthy dream.
Material gifts are tokens from my heart
But for my heart’s real love,
Feel the softest touch upon your neck,
Or know my lips upon your proffered cheek.
Or smell the sweat you drew from me,
As with such passion
We sealed our union’s gift.

 

Halvergate Marshes

I’ve seen you before,
Wild wilderness of sky.
Union, flat oh flat table topping,
Clouds mount and rear, overarching space and time,
Shadows, sunlight glimmer dykes and streams,
Frog hopping weed-caked ditches gleam,
As marsh-hoppers hop, hop, hop over on open paths,
That hold meadows fresh, hay cut dream.
Cranky needles of abandoned fences,
Segregate four legs from grazing four,
Painted ponies, sheep, titanium white dots over verdant green.
Skulking over raptors stalk, in grass and reed,
Grumpy children set in willow nests to feed.
Lonely willow tufts hide wet, damp hollows,
Or rare marsh cottage isolated, all alone,
Sad and private for the man,
Who works the wind-pumps wirlygigs of salt-sea blow,
Or towers that crumble, home sweet home,
Paths with no where else to go.
A place to be so all alone, drowning in the empty,
Washed by the crushing sky,
Scattered bird song, sundown dusk, the winds soft, fading sigh.
The hunting heron hears the wild deer’s cry.

 

Knowing of You

There is an intimate contentment,
Knowing you are there.
Your face so full of happiness,
Washed of, draining heavy care.
It feels so very, very right,
Your touch, your softest presence,
Your smell, your sounds,
Intertwining inner minds,
The silhouette of dearest breasts,
Against the gentle morning light.
Exploring fingers, wondrous tips,
Such giving from your sensuous touch.
The wet warmth mysteries of your woman’s place.
Secret sighs, the twisting muscles of our thighs.
Once in a lifetime the rarest Love evolves,
Sustaining all the testing pangs,
Of such a magic birth.
For knowing, yes the knowing,
Will always be enough.

 

On Death

Oh my predator, born of my whimpering life,
Symbiotic union of our destruction.
My friends are close
But you my enemy so much closer.
As first child then youth I glimpsed you,
Felt you sometimes when the wind in the forest
Made the trees uneasy.
As wasted years swept past,
With broken dreams and withered relationships,
So my strengths dulled and yours found dreadful purpose.
Now I feel you, daily, hourly.
You have fed me so well upon a feast of life’s joys
And seated at my elbow I am so driven,
To make a precious purpose of it all.
When at last you snatch with calculated zest,
You’ll find no satisfaction,
As together we will
In death’s sweet eternity, find at last our mutual rest.

 

The Craftsman

His preference is the light of day,
Cold northern shafts that survive the filters,
Of dust draped cobwebs, so long undisturbed.
Tools of the trade,
Such precious possessions, so protected,
That even cruel, grasping bankruptcy,
Can never take or claim.
These are things of beauty, some old and passed by time,
Held, used, cherished and polished,
By those that plied his trade, generations prior.
Once yellow boxwood, colour warmed,
Fed by knowing hands dirt sweat stains,
Impregnating, jewels that catch the light.
Brass bands and polished steel,
Oiled and sharpened, worn and used,
Each a personality, a much love friend.
There are so many, cobbler and smith,
All share one union, true pride in all they do.
Brothers all, alone, silent slaves of excellence.
This one I watch, writes in copper plate,
Silver is his paper, a burin is his pen.
Effortless effort, as swirls and complex decorations,
Mark his easy progress, till mesmerized,
We believe that we could do the same.

 

Across A Room

Of thoughts of you my wandering mind enshrines,
Days that pass as long as church-yard faces,
For touching you has yet to come.

It is so known that fate has moved its hand
And brought such temperate joy upon my world.
I can but wait as dark rooks haunt my trees,
And dusk swirls all around its magic night to bring.

I know as night is played upon with wine
And with our bodies we will at last enjoin.
That what is such sweet union will migrate
To something far, far more than mere unanimous connection.
Together thanking gifts of Mother fate.
Till river Gods will freeze the ice so firmly strong
Beneath your tender feet.

 

Beyond and Beyond

Knowing the you,
Has at one stroke my needless death deprived.
Knowing the you,
Has made sure death will surely die.
I found the certain love,
Not upon sunlit hills or tumbling stream
But in the darkest places never seen.
A love that worships every dream,
A love that haunts my blackest scream.
And with my loving hand,
That tender, strokes your head
I must also drop by burning drop,
Leave you sleeping in your bed.
For knowing the you,
“Lasts for always”.

 

Woven Trust

Intricate are the interconnections
That weave soft, beauty of our trust,
That permit the knowing boundaries
Of our sweetest lust.

When your sweet form twists in loving pain,
Or tears of melancholy fill your troubled eye,
It is our loving trust that heals,
Deep in united hearts to lie.