Poem of the Month #2

                                               Some are teethed on a silver spoon,

                                               With the stars strung for a rattle;

                                               I cut my teeth as the black racoon -

                                               For implements of battle.

                                               Some are swaddled in silk and down,

                                               And heralded by a star;

                                               They swathed my limbs in a sackcloth gown

                                               On a night that was black as tar.

                                               For some, godfather and goddame

                                               The opulent fairies be;

                                               Dame Poverty gave me my name,

                                               And Pain godfathered me.

                                               For I was born on Saturday -

                                               “Bad time for planting a seed,”

                                               Was all my father had to say,

                                               And, “One mouth more to feed.”

                                               Death cut the strings that gave me life,

                                               And handed me to Sorrow,

                                               The only kind of middle wife

                                               My folks could beg or borrow.

                                                             Saturday’s Child (1924)

                                                                        - Countee Cullen 

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Love the Lord when you’re young

For Anaïs, with Ecclesiastes 12:1

Well your path is before you

And the prize is still ahead

They say that life’s a journey

And yet we’re so easily misled

But every day is different

In all its doubts and its delights

So may the Good Lord look upon you -

May he rejoice over you with gladness

And may he give you endurance

For the race in which you run

So remember that God has a plan for you

And love the Lord when you’re young

May you always be there for others

When there’s a hand that you can lend

The path of life is often uncertain

But in time a broken heart will mend

So may your heart always be grateful

And your needs always be met

And may the Good Lord restore to you

The days of sadness and regret

May his presence ever guide you

And may you be carried by his grace

May the Good Lord walk beside you

Until you see him face-to-face

All these things I pray you’ll see

In the days that are to come

So remember the joy of his presence

And love the Lord when you’re young

May your cup be filled with blessing

And may you be the vessel in which he delights

May your presence bring joy and laughter

To those around you - so walk in the light

Because he’s separated our transgressions

As far as the east is from the west

So may you know the hope of his salvation

Until you enter into his rest

And may the Good Lord be with you

Father, Spirit, Son

So remember the purpose he’s given you

And love the Lord when you’re young

Yes love the Lord when you’re young

- Matthew Edward Scarborough
© Copyright 2019. All rights reserved. Image by Zurijeta.

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Lady of the woods

                                                I hear her call from within the mist

                                                    And the rustle of autumn leaves

                                                In the ruddy cheeks that summer kissed

                                                    And whispers of the breeze

                                                The winter-lands and frozen lakes

                                                    Amber-glowing in ambrosial light

                                                In the evening and before day breaks

                                                    She bathes in the moon-light

                                                In silence where the footsteps tread

                                                    Lost in wind and downy sweep

                                                Snow falls upon moon-lit paths

                                                    Where days are gathered ankle-deep

                                                The stars like flickering embers

                                                    Now shining as a dream

                                                Of moon-lit mountains, crystal fountains

                                                    And rolling summer streams

                                                The Lady of the Woods appears

                                                    As the evening draws near

                                                Fading as the light once burned

                                                    In longing hearts of yesteryear

                                                Sometimes she’s but a glimpse

                                                    Where fleeting shadows catch the light

                                                But to me you are as true as any lover

                                                    Who walks these woods by night

                                                     - Matthew Edward Scarborough
                                                         © Copyright 2019. All rights reserved. Image source. 

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Washington dot com

Well they said that it would all be good

Until the day in all went wrong

When a guy called Edward Snowden

Got in trouble with Washington dot com

And people got real hot under the collar

When Julian Assange said don’t be fooled

We all know the Central Intelligence Agency

Is trying to rule the world

And the CIA hired lots of Action Men

Whom they trained to stop attackers

Until they fired their general in Afghanistan

And hired a bunch of hackers

But I’ve got a real bad feeling

That something might go wrong

Because I can’t get any information

Out of Washington dot com

And they say that Congress and MI5

Are suspicious of the things we say

Because fear seeks information

And Facebook is sub-contracted to the NSA

And the world is going to fall apart

If you believe the guys from WikiLeaks

Because soon the Pentagon won’t be run by politicians

But by anarchists and a bunch of geeks

Oh there’s a battle that’s raging

And its getting hard to hide

But with luck we’ll win the War on Terror

If God’s still on our side

But the world is getting suspicious

And the world is getting small

There’s grey smoke on the horizon

And anger in Whitehall

Yes we live in a suspicious world

Where you can’t turn back at the eleventh hour

Because the Kremlin’s stamping its big feet

Down the long, dark corridors of power

Oh there’s anger and frustration

So paint your passports brown

We might be swimming in information

But be careful or you might drown

And the world is watched by satellite

Big Brother and Peeping Tom

But the government don’t understand

Why people don’t get along

Perhaps we ought to blame the politicians

In Washington dot com

- Matthew Edward Scarborough

 © Copyright 2019. All rights reserved. Image source.

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Poem of the Month #1

      As from the house your mother sees 

          You playing round the garden trees, 

      So you may see, if you will look 

          Through the windows of this book, 

      Another child, far, far away, 

          And in another garden, play. 

      But do not think you can at all, 

          By knocking on the window, call 

      That child to hear you. He intent 

          Is all on his play-business bent. 

      He does not hear; he will not look, 

          Nor yet be lured out of this book. 

      For, long ago, the truth to say, 

          He has grown up and gone away, 

      And it is but a child of air 

          That lingers in the garden there.

                                        To Any Reader (1885)

                                   - Robert Louis Stevenson 

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Wild child

                                           You tore up the asphalt of life’s road

                                               and somersaulted fences

                                           You never reaped the oats you sowed

                                               to gratify your senses.

                     I’d wait in sleepless apprehension 

                         the clock chimed two or three before -

                                           with unrepentant condescension

                                                you turned your house-key in the door.

                                           You didn’t leave a trick unturned,

                                               you drank from every fountain

                                           You laughed at every bridge you burned

                                                and flattened every mountain.

                            

                                           Wayward imp, in some strange measure

                                               your restless spirit was a gift -

                                           Your reign on earth was crowned with pleasure

                                               and God knows, child - you really lived.

- Ann Scarborough Moore
© Copyright 2019. All rights reserved.

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Keeping you posted

                                                Random lady postal clerk - 

                                                    Cape Town Central 08:15;

               Picked by fate to play the part

                  Of witness to my dream.

               The girl who, like a startled hare,

                  Approached your window hatch was me;

               An answer had to be relayed

                  To someone waiting patiently.

               I couldn’t use the telephone 

                  At work, because the walls had ears

               And so I chose a telegram

                  To tell my love that I was his.

                        

               I didn’t want the world to know,

                  So I devised a cryptic code,

               Imagining that only he

                  Would understand what I proposed.

               ‘‘Give me a ring at lunchtime’’

                  Seemed unsuspicious and detached

               To uninitiated eyes;

                  I quickly slid it through the hatch.

               You glanced at it, and then at me – 

                  A slow smile spread across your cheeks.

               I thought you were about to cry, 

                  And then you whispered ‘‘That’s so sweet!’’

               Random lady postal clerk,

                  Thirty years have come and gone;

               I wish that I could let you know

                  The romance is still going strong. 

                     - Ann Scarborough Moore

                    © Copyright 2019. All rights reserved. Image source.

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Going overboard

                             This is my final testament - I hate to disappoint

                                 your hopes for your inheritance, but here’s the finer point:

                             I tolerated selfishness with sacrificial grace

                                 so while it still belonged to me, I played my winning ace

                             and booked a cruise around the world in a coffin lined with lead

                                 with open-ended travel dates, to spoil me when I’m dead.

                             A single cabin with a view has been reserved for me;

                                 which brings me to my last request - don’t bury me at sea.

- Ann Scarborough Moore

 © Copyright 2019. All rights reserved. Image source.

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