 The question you must ask, the one you think to pose.
Is what is needed now, to bring things to a close. Of all the things we need to shred, the objects we must burn. Of people we let go, no longer our concern. For in unfurling bud, is promise of anew. Of hope of better things, of love that will renew. The petal shape of heart, leads us to our centre. A relationship in the view, of equal and of mentor. For now it’s time to start again, back at our beginning. Spring forth upon the year, no longer to be sinning. Our truth is what must now be heard, be sung like crested lark. To greet the golden morn, with melody and of bark. For us now to express ourselves, through call and that of prose. To trust in spirit of the plant, from blackthorn to primrose. Abundance there is here and now, in one full turn of wheel. Where all the flowers come to dance, to strut their stuff and deal. To bristle, shake, and dust self off, be ready for the go. To jump from block and starting gun, back in the mighty flow. For now we run as fast as can, charge head long on and on. To fill our day with joy and fun, rising orb to setting sun. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all and the emotions that it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below.
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 She is in the moment, when the clock strikes three.
She is in the nighttime, when there's only loneliness and me. She is in the shadows, of the day long stress I find. She is in the emptiness, in the splinters of my mind. She is in the circle, of where it all began. She is in the landscape, walking hand in hand. She is in the weekends, in a past life full of joy. She is in the morrow, more authentic and less coy. She is in the fragrance, of a scent flirting with my nose. She is in the flowers, of honeysuckle and of rose. She is in the deerskin, a treasure to the touch. She is in the cards and gifts, that promised all too much. She is in the memory, of fun times often shared. She is in the heartbeat, of lovers who once cared. She is in the albums, of snap shots time's forgot. She is in the flame, that tries to burn the flipping lot. She is in the beach, where I go and sit and think. She is in the shoreline, as the sun turns clouds to pink. She is in the driftwood, washed up on the coming tide. She is in the reality, of a light that’s gone and died. She is in the body, of someone I don’t know. She is in the doorway, not sure to stay or go. She is in the onward, our destiny entwined as one. She is in the reason, for the journey still to come. She is in the necklace, of a new recruit. She is in the wood, in twig and branch and root. She is in the breeze, that caresses all the trees. She is in the spirit, that comes to set me free. She is in the counsel, of many a true friend. She is in the healing, of a human on the mend. She is in the woman, who I have not yet met. She is in the future, to settle an old debt. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all and the emotions that it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below.  Clustered amongst the hedgerow, strewn upon woodland floor.
Sprinkled along the riverbank, seated next to nature’s door. Grouped within the border, spread throughout the bed. Present upon the edges, a filter for our head. Your vibrant yellow trumpet, shouts louder than dunnock song. Penetrating blackbird squabble, ceasing dreadful mower’s dong. A sound to herald boundaries, to drop into the calm. To soothe the problem every day, to administer spirit balm. For herein rests discernment, the choice to welcome in. Or fence circumference circle, and exclude mechanic din. The power in our options, is simple yes and no. To greet harmonious friend, or dismiss unwanted foe. To you we look for judgement, to be an accurate measure. Of when to champion spring, and bask in sunny pleasure. To surround ourselves with happiness, and jump with expectant joy. Of blue tit gathering nest, and parents wish for girl or boy. For now the longer days have come, tis time for action pledge. To carry with us all we want, drop dross from threshold ledge. No more baggage can we carry, upon our onward route. New beginnings beckon, of beauties, undeniably so cute. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  She pushes up against, the frozen solid ground.
Where snow and ice exist, all about and all around. Nature’s onward cycle, just gently begins again. With little seeds so hidden, deep within the den. Such dainty stems unfurl, enclosed within the kernel. Where life force does emit, jumping any frosted hurdle. No obstacle too great, for one with such a will. Searching ever upward, to break cold and crusted sill. Despite the stacking odds, there is a simple way. For drop of white, to crack clean through, and sway. Aligned with universal force, progress is slow but sure. Amazing for one so fine, delicate and demure. No chance the Earth does have, with its winter soil. With such determined might, such struggle and such toil. The self it needs to actualise, to bloom above the surface. To strive to be the one, to flower first in springtime furnace. Such spirits it does lift, for brighter times to come. Clumps of dancing belles, sing with hearts of joy and fun. Much pleasure to be had, sat amongst the drift. In barren times and richness, abundance and plain thrift. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  I’m grateful for the sunshine, I’m grateful for the rain.
I’m grateful for the trials of life, the pleasure and the pain. I’m grateful for this little bloom, of white and yellow flower. That brightens that of winter day, longest night and darkest hour. I’m grateful for its healthy spirit, that beams through muddied lawn. That keeps on growing, through wettest morn and that of coldest dawn. I’m grateful for the buzzard call, that soars on upward flight. Despite all the mocking crows, that tempt it into fight. I’m grateful for the faithful dog, with wagging tail and ball. That comes to lighten any mood, give joy and moment stall. I’m grateful for the ever present, for the time that’s here and now. For the chirp of raven rook, song of tit and moo of cow. I’m grateful for the traffic noise, the constant buzz of car. Distracting sounds from nature’s calm, stretching thought from near to far. I’m grateful for the passage by, of the tinkle of a bell. For the blue sky up above, for heaven joined with earth and hell. I’m grateful for the peace I find, of dropping into zone. At one with which is all around, I no longer feel alone. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  Guided or misguided, we’re here in this space.
It is what it is. Totems and omens, aplenty in this place. It is what it is. Dead ends and roundabouts, traffic and noise. It is what it is. Litter and pollution, tin cans and toys. It is what it is. Long looks and stares, as questions abound. It is what it is. What are you doing there, eyebrows are frowned. It is what it is. Who are you to speak, to voice your concern. It is what it is. To care for the planet, with heart and discern. It is what it is. Frustration, regulation, cut back, restraint. It is what it is. Progress thwarted, travel constraint. It is what it is. A blanket of virus, knee deep in mud. It is what it is. Missed opportunities, dreams that go thud. It is what it is. Sunshine and showers, rain and rainbow. It is what it is. Strive as we do, to get back in the flow. It is what it is. Uncomfortable being, a pain in the bum. It is what it is. Praying for redemption, some hope to come. It is what it is. Magpies, golden stags, offer a lift. It is what it is. Droplets and downpours, no shelter a gift. It is what it is. Sodden prose now, ink splodged, no write. It is what it is. Still stepping forward, carrying the fight. It is what it is. A horse neighs a whinny, more sure of the end. It is what it is. We wonder what’s next, what life to be penned. It is what it is. Car horns do sound, it’s time for the off. It is what it is. Acknowledgement of self, acceptance aloft. It is what it is. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  Whatever time of year it is, you are sure to be on show.
With seeds that scatter to the wind, or petals all aglow. A vibrant yellow amongst the fields, a sunny disposition. Tracking golden orb across the sky, whatever its position. A winter flower as much as spring, to you we can rely. When down in mood, depressed a bit, and all we do is cry. Many tears could well be shed, for both happy and the sad. Not everybody’s taste are you, gardener’s sight, far from glad. For the stalwart of the pasture, persistent pest upon the lawn. You divide opinion of the many, the less hopeful, more forlorn. Of the more converted though, your essence is a must. There for us each day on day, to you we are to trust. For your message to us all, is the faith that we must keep. When all of hope looks lost, and watered lids do seep. For despite all the odds we see, there’s unexpected twist. A surprise or two in store, of a situation to be fixed. There’s still joy to come, silken threads before unseen. Connecting us to a solar path, ever onwards towards our dream. Interlaced like spiders webs, strands criss and cross at will. Taking us closer to a divine plan, where spirits lift and fill. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  A pheasant breaks cover, just above my head.
A clapping of wings, stopping me dead. Like an arrow he flies, to the other wood bank. I'm distracted, I pause, to him I must thank. For now I've switched over, into the mystery I sink. As the elements conspire, to make me just think. The sunshine emblazons, autumn's fiery red hues. No wind in this valley, to disrupt the clear views. The earth starts to sing to me, its melodic song. The water in front of me, a mirror, where I belong. I'm in awe and in wonder, of the path of liquid gold. Moving incrementally down river, the story unfolds. Two swans glide so serenely, across the mill pond. Creating ripples of silver, to which I'm most fond. My breath is now taken, my heart in my mouth. My chest gripped in tension, my soul shifts South. I'm encouraged to release, to let my spirit drop. To dive into the deep, let my thoughts go plop. There's just me and this stillness, not to be afraid. Just to witness the telling, the act to be played. For now in the emptiness, a brilliance is filled. A flash of orange and turquoise, my whole being is thrilled. For there in the moment, a kingfisher flies forth. Not one but there's two now, connection true North. I'm in rapture, enthralled, in bliss, pure joy. At one with my surroundings, in heaven, oh boy! By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  Stretched well away, from your solid core centre.
Wrapped around root, every cranny you enter. Up stem and over bush, in relentless full pursuit. Clambering over everything, a claustrophobic brute. Rhizomes are splayed, far and wide you do grab. Clawing at the soil, unsuspecting seedlings to nab. Of poison you are, to a gardener’s fair mind. Treasured bush strangled, light robbed plain blind. Secateurs are then brought, to which you are chopped. Cut back to the source, many tears are then mopped. The harvest gets a breather, but wary it should be. For soon you’ll gather strength, and back you’ll come with glee. For every time you are slaughtered, knocked down to the ground. You lift yourself back up, where more anger abounds. Enraged that you are, of being bullied again. Of your right to grow strong, and bring resistance to men. For in your fair essence, there is this persistence. Where it is futile to banish you, for high is resilience. If only we could learn, to love your white bloom. To bask in your morning glory, and give you more room. For in the realm of Great Spirit, that of our Eden. There is a place for us all, to thrive and be feeding. Keep trying we will, to make our effort reap pay. To shine if we might, discover joy and to play. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  In the darkness of the forest, in the shadow and the shade.
Where ground is wet and damp, moist within the glade. There’s a silence understood here, understated, stately calm. Where souls are at rest here, and none will come to harm. Trees stood still and stationary, defenders of the deep. Where rays of golden sunshine, pierce doom with wanted seep. For often in the gloominess, there’s only sadness and despair. Of a wish to be connected, but where, there’s no-one there. The search is long and arduous, for the gleam of something red. Fiery in disposition, at our core it is embed. It’s the light that keeps us going, far into the night. Something to be fought for, far beyond the fright. Often we are distracted though, with bewildered, conflicted mind. Lost within the everyday noise, many a voice unkind. Doing us down at every chance, killing our spirit too. Sombre we are with the weariness, of a disease of many a hue. The masks and veils that hide our bright, so thick they are with sin. It takes almighty courage, to beat them back with vim. To form a route, descend on down, to plunge into our debt. To find the hero long within, treasured jewel we’ve always kept. A blur with all our mental thoughts, you cut us to the chase. A beacon of hope lies within, eternal to embrace. Not easy is it to find you though, lodged within our core. The heartwood beyond our outer bark, inner fire lit, forever more. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below. |
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