Hi

I'v got Parkinson's and following recent drug increases have suddenly started waking up with complete Poems in my mind. I'v always been interested in Poetry but always had to work at it but now it's as if a door has been opened.
I would be grateful for some feedback
Oh I will only post few as I'v done 50 since new year ! Can't seem to close that door.
Nigel

BEFORE THE DAWN

I often watch my children sleep
in the hours before the dawn
and marvel at a love so deep,
the gift that they were born.

And as my mind tires at last
when they begin to wake,
I see the scenes of our past,
all the beauty that they make.

So fate can't ever break me
and hardship I'd ever repeat.
For it matters not what will be,
with them my life's complete.

POOR OPHELIA

A love betrayed, her father by adoring Hamlet now killed,
what mind could weather such blows. Her voice and deed
strange in manner cannot be stilled, as madness through
despair now grows.

She sings songs of nonsense verse and picks with fingers frail
flowers from her garden for gifts, to give to those who meet
poor tortured soul along the vale, as with voided thought to the
brook she drifts.

There stands a willow, it's branches as if tears filling the stream,
a still and sombre silvered glass, steep banks guard the water and
with varied floral beauties teem. Without care or thought she puts
foot upon the grass.

Entranced by colour she grasped branch and to red poppy did lean,
but was again betrayed, now by willow. For amid the sound of
splintered wood, breaking water's sheen she fell into the icy wet,
reeds became her pillow.

She was still, air filled cloth gave her time, safe footing to gain
upon the tangled bank. But sinister peace assailed poor Ophelia
promising release from her pain. Letting slip with gentle sigh under
the water softly she sank.


MEADOW FLOWERS



Coyly stood amongst the meadow grass, pastel Polka-dots on a canvas of green,
like floral gems strewn, they lift the bland, rendering the perfect country scene
for a summer afternoon.

Each year they come, a delicate scented beauty that caresses the waking land,
as if the perfection they bring, could only be created by some divine hand,
and sown from an angel's wing.

Some are taken though, by loving children who lack the florist's skill,
ripped from the loam, to briefly shine from a jar on the window sill,
a gift for Mum brought home.

I was one such boy, beguiled by this ethereal vision above nature's norm.
which in memory was to ever remain, so even now a meadow can transform,
this man into child again.


SUNSET FROM A CLIFF TOP

I am standing here with the Airs of elegant poise,
in vain attempt to honour the noise
of Natures frantic work to spectacularly close the Day,
on the Cliff top above the Bay.
The time is nigh for Night and Moon to tease the Eyes
as shadow now replaces shade.
Once again with practised Art the Sun God dies,
his healing touch does fade.
Yet even now at this mournful twilight time
I feel his warmth upon my arm,
and know that soon again he will climb,
to dispense his healing Balm.
For now, I'm smothered in Reverence and Awe,
images I will forever keep,
of the intimate ceremony I just saw,
for a land about to sleep.

Hi Nigel,

I find it fascinating that this is happening to you.
Sadly he's no longer with us, but Oliver Sacks would probably have loved talking to you about this. I imagine that, since you have PD, you would have read some of his books?

I enjoyed reading your poems when you posted them and just revisited today to read them again.

take care.

Lara,

Thank you for your post, actually I'm not familiar with Oliver Sacks and so will certainly look into his work. As you're interested I'd like to share the following.
About a month ago I was in bed, wide awake talking to my wife as she got ready. I live in an Edwardian house where all the doors,frames and skirting boards are dark wood.
As we spoke I noticed the door frame shimmering and change from a plain face to one ornately carved, all the way round with 'celtic' spirals .
I immediately told my wife. I looked away, blinked, moved my head but the image persisted for about 90 sec. It faded as if it was on lace and peeled back. Hallucinations are a product of PD meds of course and I've had two others over the last 7y, brief and mundane not at all like this. I feel it had some significance.
I'm familiar with symbolism having walked the line between science and spirit and studied all things esoteric since a boy. I was a 'spiritual Freemason' for over 20y.
Thank you again for your kindness and I hope you enjoy the following.

THE BEACH


I found myself on a deserted beach
where laughing children seldom reach.
A voice said come and sit with me
on the sand between land and sea
and I will teach you how to dream
so the world to you will not seem,
like the one that you were taught
to take as told without a thought.
You will see though eyes are shut.
And that the veil can be cut
so inside you will start to see,
the hidden nature of reality.
For as every tiny grain of sand
creates a beach along the land
so every single thought that's born
through the day from dusk til dawn
creates a tiny change in fate
and in the worlds current state

THE CHURCH TREE
Strong and stark your form defiant against the Skies,
bereft of your crocodile Skin and your Glory,
a strange hypnotic beauty within you lies
a pattern of Rings which hides your Story.
Forced into your twilight years ahead of time,
by malicious Storms intent on your demise.
I try to read your branches which seem to mime,
scenes from your past which now do rise
and before me I see several Lover's meet,
the Cat that always slept within your Roots,
and the Workers who used you as a Seat
while the Postman paused to adjust his Boots.
But the warmest image that does now appear
is of the Children that each Summer to you did race,
climbing high into your Branches to laugh and cheer.
The promise of their return helped you to face
those long Winter months of Snow and Rain
until you felt their arms around your Boughs
saying that you're their special Place again,
for as long as their fast fading Youth allows.
So as you stand here silent and forlorn
listen to my Words and feel my gentle touch,
for many Trees from you have been born,
and we were the Children that loved you so much.

DOPAMINE DREAMS

I see kaleidoscope smiles, stuttered images of faces with cartoon features,
I cannot tell their intent, are they benign beings or malevolent creatures,
they just sway and smile, content.

Soon do they fade, instead stands a man tall and proud, a shining gold token,
he says “to you I must confide”, “though you're troubled,stooped and broken,
I am you but deep inside.”

On the edge of the pit, my fingers white as I, desperate, cling to the lip.
Warm hands reach out, but only offer me sweet wine from crystal to sip,
as cheery goodbyes they shout.

“Why ?” I suddenly ask, must I suffer so on the tip of your lance,
“not that again “, “I've told you before, you've lost a game of chance,
losers pay with pain”.

Wary of me once, Dwarfs now circle,chanting with eyes of fire and spite,
unknown voices jeer, sensing weakness they're shocked when I fight,
anger replacing fear.

I often see it, the spiral Glyph with it's hidden message that I cannot read,
yet all will be revealed, when one day soon it's import will be freed,
reason no longer concealed.

PYGMALION


Poor Pygmalion, his desire for Women always tainted
by those who exchange love for coin, those Women of the
Night, faces painted ,he did once with Intimacy seek to join.

He thought the fairer Sex a worthless Breed,not worth a
second of his Time,this hate so became his Creed,he felt
to speak to such Creatures a Crime.

His Work absorbed him, working in purest stone,
not in control of his Mind ,his Tools a life of their own,
there appeared an image of Woman Kind.

For he had created,whilst not even aware, a Statue
of the female Form, so beautiful he could only stare
and feel his hate now transform.

He toiled ever more, emotion in him grew, perfection
he now sought as suddenly he knew, it was purest
Love that he had wrought.

Fervent Pleas to Aphrodite, for he longed for the Stone,
such perfection yet cold, to become Flesh and Bone,
his Lover to hold.

Heard from above,she became soft and warm to touch,
he knew what he had missed,that he had lost so much
the moment her Lips he kissed

Update,

I think I know where the spiral glyph comes from. I was asked to draw one as part of my Parkinson's diagnosis .

Nigel

Enjoy it while it lasts.

a gifted poet
if i may add
beautiful stuff
MEADOW FLOWERS
AWESOME
thanks
me

Thank you Eva, you're so very kind, so pleased, I hoped they would bring a little peace and light into people's day.

Nigel

Whilst clearing out, I came across an old photo I'd taken when I was 14 years old, it's of a wrought iron gate, leading to a church, decorated with a spiral.