Ensemble Reza

A rain flecked day, somewhere to go for free,

a concert in a church hall, music and poetry.

There a quartet of classicly trained musicians

combines with aging, aspiring, amateur poets

to entertain an audiance of white haired daisies

sprinkling the lined lawnof green church chairs.

A lady violinist bends to her bow gymnastically

while her companion cradles her coital cello.

The male cellist switches to double bass

providing a rhythm the poems sadly lack.

Culture makes an effort to assert itself

while life passes by beyond the glass entry doors.

 Travel broadens the mind they used to say
but isn't it ironic that today

we travel more yet the more we roam

the more those foreign countries get like home.

Wallflower

Why can't I be beautiful?
Why do I have to stand
around the edge of the dancing crowd

just listening to the band?

I want a boy to dance with,

somebody tall and smart,

somebody who wants me for myself,

my body and my heart.

I can give someone so much love

but never get the chance.

Because I'm fat and plain and dull

I don't get asked to dance.

Surely someone will see my soul

is brighter than my face.

Life is short. I may not win

but I want to join the race.

Wisdom not wealth was what I wanted.

Status and fame were not for me.

Now I can see it makes no difference -

they're all just forms of vanity.

 The first miracle is that the Universe exists.

The second that the Earth is so alive.

the third is Mankind.

The fourth will be if the second can survive the third.

Cultural tradition

When weeding beans he works too fast

and by mistake he cuts some down,

the farmhand's annoyance doesn't last

when dissipated by the sound

echoing down the centuries

(as long as there's no gentry round)

by Anglo-Saxon peasantries -

Oh, fuck !

Today from my high plebeian seat

the air is threaded by busy birds.

While many mammals are still asleep,

the sentinel magpies man the alerts

on the topmost twigs of the dormant trees.

As cruising seagulls glide nearby,

jackdaws in squadrons on spitfire wings

dance in circles till roosting high

they fill the air with their chatterings.

Sky turtle pigeons are sawing the sky

then resting to float like toy paper planes

creased by some little boy. The day

fades to dusk as the Spring sunshine wanes.

It's beginning to get too cold to stay.

Home ! where the little birds huddle the lanes.