The Lake

The water laps at my feet as I sit under the oak,
The branches give shelter,
The water bring peace.

"I hope you return here in happier times,"
You said.
Is this now?

The water laps at my feet as I sit under the oak,
I stare over the lake,
And I remember.
I look to the hills and I grieve.

The water laps at my feet as I sit under the oak,
Through hazy clouds
A sunbeam lights the water.
As I look to the sky,
Patches of blue appear.

As the wind drops,
I feel the warmth on my skin,
And I wonder,
"Is this hope?"

16th June 2018

Raven

A poem written for Pete and read at his funeral.

Raven

Those moments shared,

And sometimes not, 

Were precious.

Bonds were formed,

And ties were made,

And often there was solace.

As rock was touched,

A calmness fell, 

All that mattered was the present.

You told me once, 

Of how you hummed a tune,

A management of fear.

A placement good,

A foothold there,

Another over here.

And on you climbed,

A mind entirely focused.

In these rocks, and ice,

You found a home,

It was a place where nothing mattered.

It was somewhere you could be yourself, 

The noise and chatter all subsided.

And now you climb on again,

In peace that's everlasting.

On pristine holds, 

The gear good, 

Each placement almost perfect.

And as you disappear from our gaze, 

You look down to us and say,

"Cry not for me, my treasured friends,"

"Climb on."

"Climb on."

Armscliff March 2017