Poem of the Month: December 2015
A poem for the old year and the old James, where sunset and seasonal change hint at mortality.
These blues once made my spirit soar and sing
Of sea and sky, spring to summer turning,
But that is my past. I no longer cling
To blues of beginnings, youth and yearning.
I sit benched here against the tide and watch
The old sea roar, the sprung flight of martins
For whom no moment is too small to snatch,
While their time on the cliffs is passing.
For my dreams are no longer youthful dreams.
And I grow older as the seasons move,
My pleasures have changed, as year-end gleams,
And there is nothing left for me to prove,
Though loving the blue of joy-filled morning,
I am flames and ash of sunset burning.
© James Nash 2015