james watkin Poems

Nothing in my beat, irretrievable
That takes to treks, as something
Exiled of its own volition
Ever dispirits, within
...

A life is not lived once
But many times over
In the memory.
Perusal of which read
...

Time, void of use, a wasteland
Is how we see you now.
Stretched out, monotonous. Gladder
Passed through having to plough!
...

Lifted from the book of Miracles
Set beside, what's blushed awake
For those wood out of snow images
A coherent picture make
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That gaze, once turned
Smiles upon me forever.
Those eyes, once burned
As the stars never go out.
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Rain's eloquent sorrow, unheard when
Youth's surge was proceeding
More impressionably wrung out of
A subsequent heeding!
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Blessed? Unconditionally
Smiled o'er from on high?
Trite and childish! He'll need more
To feel it. For, cry.
...

Walk me through these feelings.
These your private grounds
hurtful-stepping, moaned through.
Engulfed darkly too.
...

Reinforcing that sense upon him
For a new world has just broke
Man at peace with man, and himself
Unto this shows clearly woke:
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