Poetry
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Our World From Up Here
Our world from up here Vast scenes below then hypnotic Sunsets far and wide And warm until memories Like a canal flow gliding Open to us and run free- Alive in the clouds but Below the moon still Glowing black like darkened Emotion pouring to heal And your voice to seal Echoed cries from their…
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Our Streets
I encountered more people With faces, sunken Cut through with a cold stone blade Blinked- then an opportunity missed For here, now to give wider No eyes to see change Through skin so scaled and rusted That your copper coin sticks fast To make a golden impression to Listen and answer the rattling Of the…
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Glass Half Gone
The World demands your deliberate artifice But right in the now and hear You’re Walking alone, along a lonely Love burnt grey and dust of stars Streaming ankle level and below Beneath and between your fears own me Dawn cracking down on a darkened day Alive about a sunbeam, once in May Living a lie,…
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Music, Philosophy and Jeanette Winterson
For Christamas this year, I bought Jeanette Winterson’s semi-autobiography, Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit, for my pianist friend, Jasmin. I thought I would interest Jasmin because of Jeanette’s inspirational story and her connections with Oxford, (Jasmin is awaiting a response from her Hartford interview!) and so it did. So much so in fact that…
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Finding Home
If the home was just a memory that you touched once upon a dream And even the stars’ brightness faded the closer to them you passed Where could you lay the foundations of your heart? If yet you received the greatest riches and witnessed the sweetest music If you could part the waves and conjure…
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Waiting For Love- Poems for presents
I didn’t mind But Waiting for love Was like waiting for a dream to come To fly by and take me to a world afar Where love was the waterfall and I was the reflection I was shown the life from my dreams in the river A life where the moon kissed the stars And…
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The Flaw of Supremacy
If you only played the dream And sang nothing but the love, The spirit and the depths of the soul If nothing mattered but the pleasure And all you wrote rang in perfect harmony What would you do in order to forget? Plagued with the boundary of infinite joy Would you live here with me…
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What it feels like
They told me Fly like a bird, they said all Be like the sound you want to hear Be like a sportsman, set the intention, precision Then play like a dream and run like the wind Sing you, sing like the moon, play as the risen lark Dream like the artist who grew this…
Hattie Butterworth 