Category: People

  • Golden Harvest

    Golden Harvest

    In none too subtle terms he stated
    the consequence of wasted harvest.
    He pitied those who contemplated
    taking to the grave a treasure chest
    of spring-time sweets and summer jewels.
    He reminded those, who chose to self-invest,
    that unstoked love consumes; more so than fuels.
    In wisdom, nature’s rules suggest
    beauty thrives on life repeated;
    and so, laments the spinster’s nest
    and he who loves himself conceited.
    . Time strips beauty of its youthful zest,
    . the womb, not the tomb, does future best.

    © Tim Grace, 10 July 2011


    To the reader: In an agricultural age, full of uncertainty, populate or perish must have been an accepted adage; giving guidance to family planning. In his first handful of sonnets, Shakespeare’s advice to a youthful sire is to go forth and spread his seeds in beauty’s empty fields. The agricultural advice promotes a robust tillage of vacant plots; making the most of spring-time’s lustful days for “thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee, calls back the lovely April of her prime”.

    To the poet: Just as one word does not make a sentence nor does one reading of one sonnet suffice to meet Shakespeare’s purpose. The various sets of sonnets were written over a short enough period to have overlapping features that connect them as siblings to a family. One word will evolve its use (niggard); and phrases will roll one into another, as with: golden time (3), on a golden pilgrimage (7) to his gold complexion dimmed(18).


     

    golden harvest
    golden harvest
  • Five Notes

    Five Notes

    Five notes make a negro scale,
    On a keyboard they are black.
    Pitched to help the heart prevail;
    Played to bring the spirit back.
    They strike the chord of freedom,
    And invite the voice to sing.
    If you listen you can hear them:
    Lilting, wafting, calling:
    Calling to the lost, the grieving;
    Beckoning the broken, the oppressed,
    Singing something to believe in,
    Bringing anthem to a quest.
    . Sing to the notes of freedom; let them soar,
    . Sing so we can hear them; forever more

    © Tim Grace, 3 July 2011


    To the reader: With a surname such as mine ‘Amazing Grace’ has held a life-long interest. Occasionally, I’ll venture into an exploration of the song’s pedigree. The best of all explanations, in my opinion, is a 2012 sermon by Wintley Phipps. In this moving presentation Wintley explains the history of the Slave Scale and “shares how just about all negro spirituals are written on the black notes of the piano”. The writer of ‘Amazing Grace’ was John Newton (a slave trader) moved to give lyrical interpretation to his cargo’s plaintiff chorus.

    To the poet: When you write in the footsteps of inspired art you take a risk. The comparison will more than likely reduce your words to mere exercise. And so, it’s best you respond accordingly… ensure the exercise is well executed; make it interesting.


     

    five notes five notes

     

  • No Place At All

    No Place At All

    Why didn’t you do something?
    When I needed you, were you there?
    Was I not the only thing,
    that of all things, you could not spare?
    Did it matter that I was gone?
    Did my absence cause concern?
    Did you call for me; and there upon,
    did you hope for my return?
    Where was I, when you thought of me?
    Was I front or back of mind?
    Did you think that I would ever be
    in a place that you could find?
    . Where was I? … scratched upon a wall,
    . I was here! … in no place at all.

    © Tim Grace, 26 June 2011


    To the reader: To be absent is not the same as missing; for missing is akin to lost. Absence creates an emptiness that can be explained but not always with understanding; never with satisfaction. Through absence we meet a measureless void. The comprehension of absence is poignant; with recognition comes a reminder of what was once more fulsome. Absence leaves a yearning; missing leaves a space.

    To the poet: Eight questions… not an answer to be found. That’s the point. That’s absence. The structure of a poem builds around its theme. A poignant theme will be overwhelmed by too much structure; it will lose it tentative unsurity. The strong statement of “I was here!” bares the heavier load of “Where was I?” … I wasn’t lost or missing; I wasn’t gone …I was absent …and did you care?


     

    no place at all no place at all

     

  • We Were There

    We Were There

    You asked of our location.
    You assumed we had control.
    With fear and trepidation,
    we stepped into this role.
    We did everything we could.
    When reason failed, we turned to hope.
    When overwhelmed, confused we stood.
    We did nothing more than cope.
    We had no map to chart a course.
    We too were badly lost.
    With every rescue came remorse.
    With every salvage came a cost.
    . If it’s comforting to know… we were there,
    . confused and bewildered … in poor repair.

    © Tim Grace, 30 June 2011


    To the reader: In the midst of emotional turmoil family relationships are tested. As chaos takes hold and threatens to undermine every sinew of collective strength we turn to old habits; tried and tested remedies. Then, when the family’s kit-bag is empty, we resort to new tricks; an escalation of counselling. In reality, some complications defy therapy… enter resilience: cope and hope; be there when it counts.

    To the poet: Struggle. Some poems behave like a troublesome child. Why won’t this one perform like all the rest? How could this one be so different? Why can’t this one just conform? If only this one would do as it’s told we’d all be happy? Not all poems right themselves; nor do they write themselves.


     

    we were there we were there
  • Bright Source

    Bright Source

    By light of day he sees her twice;
    with truth and beauty she does shine.
    Together so, his two eyes splice
    what love does well combine.
    Truth with all its honours bound
    glows best when bathed in light.
    Beauty too, is likewise found
    where shines the sun most bright.
    Light reveals her sights unseen
    and brings to fore her vision;
    shines on spaces in between
    to uncover what is hidden.
    . The bright source of genuine affection:
    . illuminated love; delight in its projection.

    © Tim Grace, 16 June 2011


    To the reader: Delight; illuminated love… a revelation! Beauty and truth are tested through exposure and upon illumination become a vision. Truth without beauty casts a shadow of doubt. Beauty without truth shines dimly. Honesty has nothing to hide, seeks no dark retreat. As Dylan Thomas wrote: “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light”.

    To the poet: Using the strictest of interpretations not a perfect sonnet. Yet, it works in many ways as a sonnet was meant. A compact, neat carriage of verse; internally strong with structure and substance. Truth and beauty, revealed in the first two lines, are separately expanded in the following six lines. The next four lines add a touch intrigue… is the poem erotic; surely not? And then, for summary’s sake, the final couplet draws together a lasting glimpse, a concluding essence that invites a second read.


     

    bright source bright source
  • Through Contemplation

    Through Contemplation

    It’s through contemplation that one sees
    behind the quick attraction,
    beyond the chic events that tease
    and taunt us to distraction.
    It’s the day-dream that delivers respite
    from the constant nag, the relentless pull
    of the trivial, the transient and trite;
    in this void there is no full;
    nor is there emptiness;
    nor is there substance (dried or set).
    There’s no position of fixed address,
    nothing to remember, nothing to forget.
    . It’s through contemplation that one reveals
    . the everything that sight conceals.

    © Tim Grace, 9 June 2011


     

    To the reader: Sight and light are complementary themes; together, they deliver vision in a physical sense. Seeing behind and beyond vision, delving into contemplation, is a metaphysical experience. Middle-grounded thought processes that deceptively avoid the optic nerve’s careful watch. It’s through contemplation, eyes off-guard, that the world is transfigured; broken from its matrix to form the poetry of mental images.

    To the poet: In poetry, the repetition of sounds adds emphasis and certainty of voice; provides an aural structure. In this poem alliteration, assonance and consonance are given free reign. Not too much. For too liberally applied, these devices become laboured and tiresome; having the opposite effect to that intended. Used wisely, these tools of the trade define the quality of writing. When used as ornamentation the poet slides a slippery slope.


     

    through contemplation through contemplation