Poems and Poetry

Roy K. Austin

A Quiet Mind | A Poem by Roy K. Austin

Is it safe to say
thought has it’s limits?
Beauty, adored as the whole
is lost by seeking the part
as the seeking brain does,
but the quiet mind
after the rain has fallen
to quench the thirst
of the flowering plain,
is not deaf
to the voice of the violet,
the trembling primrose,
or blind to the wild spirit
in the soft eyes of a deer,
and the numb strength
to wrap round with arms
an old, dying oak,
the blue-print of bliss
on the one hand
the signature of heaven,
but on the other, missing
the point forever,
trapped in cold fact
like mummified bones
that give off the ghoul,
a blindness to depth
and a voice that stutters
to all that utters to the soul;
If one does not feel it
one will not see it —
a universal meaning —
in the effect of a rainbow,
from the ground of all being….

Comical Starlings
feed like clowns
then into the sun
fly off as one,
autumn, pulls
on the sad strings
of a sorrowful heart,
as love must part,
turn green to red
when all from dusk to dawn
seemed that of wisdom
yet nothing verbal
yet something said;
o the parts from the whole
do not feed the soul,

over the tongue
from the brain in my head,
come back to life
is what nature said
and I understood
how that was very,
very good.

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Rocking Chair | A Poem by Roy K. Austin

(To my beloved wife.)

Hidden well behind the eyes
mystery in deepest black,
what you do not know you see
in the mirror looking back!

Feel your pulse to count you here,
catch the daydream on your face-
everyone is somewhere else,
somewhere in that inner space!

movement like the pendulum
gazing through as in between,
you, my dear embodied love
all you are runs through my veins;

Hippocrene is in my mind
on the cusp of time and space,
you break through as muse, my love,
all I am is in your face!

Emptiness is what we are
omnipresent, like the air,
you resolve my universe
sitting in that rocking chair!

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Love Is Light | A Poem by Roy K. Austin

Stars seem captive tonight
held fast by their own gravity,
and so am I in thinking
that space would mirror me –
the freedom of my inward gaze,
all life is light, the eternal light
that fills the external void,
I close my eyes and see a galaxy
within, and that space is
the loving space we make
where others live and move,
that space is also freedom
and also love’s expression
thus love is also life as well as light.
The face of my youthful being
was mainly green and vain,
and with it’s passion came the pain
until it came to know a person’s
inside beauty,where so well hidden
it came to know it’s timeless age,
where an old man in time
hides his ageless youth.

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Downton Abby Three: WW1 | A Poem by Roy K. Austin

In memory of Downton’s past
come through her gates and round her drive,
for through an old and rising mist
her ghosts like visitors arrive,
come see him stand upon his step
his Lordship with a history,
like Arthur up from Camelot,
who kept his faith with ancestry,
not those who gambled at the tote
but those, surrounded by a moat,
a humble man for all of that
to smile at you and doff his hat
as his pride would stand behind him;
the Duchess dowager his eyes
who had the ear to guide him,
though just a mother all the same.
that never would deride him,
Her lady-ship, now figured blue
descendent of a colony,
who gently wore her stripes and stars
like simples and astronomy:

The under-butler combs his hair
and contemplates a malady,
finds looking at what isn’t there
as something of a tragedy,
what seems quite full around the edge
as Gladys rushes for a mop
would not decide or take a bet
that he was thinner on the top.

My lord who stands with arms akimbo
resigned to stare into his blind,
to cloak his unresolved question
and keep his valet off his mind,
who indicates a tired creep-
not after dusk but after dawn,
can’t hide the fact he didn’t sleep
to stop his early morning yawn
suggesting he should count the sheep!

What goes around must come around
and settle as the daily dust,
and down the stairs where Carmen pouts
and Joe could eat her lips I trust,
the doc would say that it’s all right
just don’t unleash that appetite!

After the Archduke Ferdinand
the storms were gathering abroad,
but Downton stood as England does
to rise or fall upon it’s sword,
again his Lordship, arms akimbo
his uniform, brushed to gleam
a batman’s bloody war, a dream
with silver brush and hot steam
and ‘Sam Brown’ polished, on a screen.

Alas time turns and every page
has seen the fading of an age,
but this kind man could never stage
the ending of his heritage.
The ghosts are gone, the mist has not,
His house still stands like Camelot.

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Floral Yellow | A Poem by Roy K. Austin

So it seems to the profound
that love grows upward from the ground,
as slowly as that ice thaws, but then
mid closed buds, the odd one open
that tries to rush the spring,
or so it seems to touch the heart,
as if risking it’s life to greet me,
and how it tugs my tendril spirit
fearing the sun, too weak to save it
and all the rest, the waiting wise
or so it seemed to my surprise,
along the old track to the mere
with Wordsworth, singing in my ear.

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Of Sylvia Plath | A Poem by Roy K. Austin

(To Wuthering Heights)

As if in sleep she walked alone,
her subconscious stalked as a companion,
it is significantly strange
when darkness fell upon her,
on those settlements below
to see them, ‘gleam as small change’,
the beauty rising from her words
departs somewhat from what I’m told,
for there is no doubt in my mind
she reimbursed a thousand-fold,
and to her soul, her underlying tragedy
my wreathe is laid unto her mystery:

A long journey, a tiny creature,
a tired, winged migrant,
I wonder, did it call her then
through a rising mist like this,
was it wild October, calm and damp,
a state of empathy with mind
over moors to ‘Wuthering Heights’,

Did she see, standing in grey gloom
that old rusted barn, with tin-bell,
could she hardly see as I do, or hear
it tinkling to and fro, or feel it’s
gentle swing by moderate air flow,
did she look back, forlorn
to see her tracks, her past
banish her from sight,
lose what once was her true self
lost to the surrounding fog
and her coming nightfall!
Was she left within the moment
to brood and dwell on bleak things,
did she listen to the bleat of sheep
as I do now in isolated spaces,
undisturbed to graze there,
suddenly to loom, appear to she
who stared back as the uninvited,
as the thinning fog rose higher,
looking like unwilling hosts,
was she an unexpected guest too
looking ghostly from another world,
would she entreat me now to leave them
in her unknown peaceful place,
grazing on their ancient land,
she does not see heather now
or the tangled silver roots that
‘invite the whitening of her bones.’

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Downton Abbey Revisited: WW1 | A Poem by Roy K. Austin

(Down stairs)

Poppies look out from your shade
fading back as if to go,
as your light begins to fade,
so like you my dear friend Joe,
bivouacked there with footman Tom
under fire along the Somme,
your lives hanging by a thread
embedded in the Flanders mud;

all your letters she has shown me, speaks of love you have known,
Minnie in her maid’s attire
would to all of us, inspire,
I can see a certain grace now
your love is written in her face,
as you linger with your traces
your old boots still trail their laces,
when I try to make her laugh
she turns towards your photograph;
pulls back the curtains all the way
and gazes out into the sky,
and dreams of you in Flanders
fields, I will not ask for I know why.

Our skies are turning into grey,
we hear what whistles passed your ears
and did not have your number on it,
and when you climb across the top
I’ll crawl along with you in spirit.

Poppies looked out from your shade
and we are left, bereft of you,
but my dear friend, I cannot see
what life would be, not knowing you.

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