Many Moods, Verses and Poems , livre ebook

Many Moods, Verses and Poems
Hazel Aitken
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-07-31
Many Moods, Verses and Poems About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © The World Around Us Dawn over the Firth of Forth Five Senses Simple Pleasures Circles After the Storm The Promise Stella-Bella Tiger Lily Little Jack People Abigail Desmond The Minister Came for Tea Gossips Letter from the Trenches Regrets The Old Nun’s Prayer With a Pinch of Salt A Man’s World Talk About Ardent! The Innocent The Beacon The Rebel My Husband’s Morning My Morning The Past Ireland, 1845 – Famine The Irish Immigrant, 1850 What’s in a Name? The Invisible Woman Another Time and Place The Neglected Mistress Come to the Fair The Bender Tent Ancestors Susannah Smith, Born Circa 1730 The Gypsy Fortune-teller Old Sir George – Baronet, Born 1798 Anne Wilson – Servant, Born 1823 Sarah – Great-Grandmother, Born 1828 – Straw Bonnet-Maker Emily Jane – Great-Grandmother, Born 1852 – Heiress Frances Julia – Grandmother, Born 1865 Edward – Great-Grandfather, Born 1835 – Head Gardener Disillusion Hope Deferred Feeling like Rubbish Teenage Angst Words of Wisdom to a Granddaughter The Warning The Follies of Youth The Changeling The Hospital Visitor A Class Act It Seems to Me… A Lesson Learned Endless Circles I Wonder Grandmother Said… The Visitation Ghosts A Broken World Denial The Nameless One Syria Gaza Hope Renewed Through the Eyes of a Child Reaching Out The Newly Arrived Immigrant The Friendship Revelation Typically Me! To My Dear Sons Fresh Start The Outing Christmas A Christmas Recipe
About the Author
Hazel Aitken has published short stories, articles and verses over the years. Her passions are family, practical charity work, animal welfare, historical research and her garden.
Dedication
In loving memory of Gordon, to whom I read the poems during his last illness.
Copyright Information ©
Hazel Aitken (2020)
The right of Hazel Aitken to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a poetry book, which is a product of the author’s imagination. It reflects the author’s recollections of experiences over time. Any resemblance to other works of poetry, quotes, slogans, to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528912136 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528960021 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
The World Around Us

Dawn over the Firth of Forth
Dawn brushes silver over the cold grey waters
Clouds, gold and pink tinged, hover over an ice-encrusted land
Which stirs, fingers of light caressing, soothing away night. Here, on their fertile fields, the Celtic tribes kept vigil
Reverencing the sunburst over twin-peaked Largo Law.
Gold flares to orange flame, pink to vermilion red, and
Silhouetted greylag, sharp and black against the brilliance, Ribbon overhead as silver waters turn to burnished bronze.

Five Senses
Did you see the skein of wild geese
Spun across the pewter sky?
Feel the icy sting of crystals
When the wintry storm passed by?
Hear the cymbal crash of thunder
Or the rushing peat brown burn?
Smell the homely scent of wood-fires
When the year was on the turn?
Sense behind the changing seasons
One who changes not at all
Holds you in his hand forever
Lest you stumble, lest you fall.

Simple Pleasures
The poached egg for my breakfast
Like sunshine on a plate
The dewdrops on a spider’s web
The foxgloves by the gate.
A newsy letter from a friend
A baby’s sparkling smile
A frothy cup of coffee
And the chance to sit awhile;
These are such simple pleasures
Which one may overlook
And here’s a special favourite
To curl up with a book.

Circles
I am the scouring wind that rakes the barren empty moor
I am the angry wave that beats upon the jagged shore,
I am the hunting sharp-eyed eagle slicing the sky and cloud
I am the treacherous snow that hides the land beneath its shroud.
I am, and I have always been.
YET…
I am the gentle moon-beam brushing the deepest night
I am the shaft of sunlight bringing warmth and gentle light, I am the lace-edged wavelet lapping on pale, blonde shore I am the teasing breeze that shakes the trembling corn.
I am, and I have always been.

After the Storm
Grass green the weed-strewn rocks on Largo beach
At odds with torn grey nets and battered chair,
A bent old fireguard and a few dead birds
Washed up and stranded, waiting for us there.
Oh goodness, so much rubbish, I exclaim
No, no, the children cry, It’s treasure trove;
Look, there’s a blue glass bottle and a tyre
We bet it’s from a sports car someone drove.
Dark grey mysterious rock pools, deep and clean
Where white crabs scuttle and pink starfish rest.
A pallid wintry sun’s reflected there
See that? they say, There’s someone’s old striped vest!
Winkle and whelk and dainty pointed snail
The clinging limpets on the rocks, the stones,
A smooth, worn brick holds charm ‘they’ cannot see
Come look at these! They’ve spotted bleached old bones!
Exciting! Maybe there was murder on this beach!
No, what they see is some poor hapless dog,
Oh, Nana, we thought you would call the police
I blow them kisses, then perch on a log.
The sun’s washed out and ‘it’ sinks in the west
I touch the rippled sand where worm casts lie
The children bicker over bits of trash
Still, beauty ‘is’ in the beholder’s eye!

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The Promise
If I can feel the dew-damp morning grass
Tickling and teasing chilly shoeless toes,
Or watch the russet fox slink between trees
My spirit thrills. Magnificent he glows.
If fallow deer feel bold enough to show
Their gentle faces in the paddock here,
And pheasants feed beside my kitchen door
These are the things that daily bring me cheer.