‘Unicorns on New Mown Lawns’ and Other Poetry by Keith Robson The Society March 17, 2013 Poetry 1 Comment Unicorns on New Mown Lawns Quintessential qualities quite quickly quantified Each reason for the morning winds that oh so slowly died, Some things are inescapable, and never fade away And some things crumble slowly, like the bridges of the day, As tallow runs in silent streams down from the living flame The candle’s smoke writes many things, but never signs its name, Yet days can tell you many things and make you wish for more Like another whispered sunrise through a partly open door. Mesmerically misunderstood myopic moon meshed mist Soft interwoven memories of a face that I once kissed, Between the waking morning and the languid afternoon The clouds washed sceptred diamonds as they waited for the moon, For some things tinkle tirelessly like bells upon the air And sometimes echoes don’t bring back the words we need to share, Yet meanwhile in the moments that have never yet been said Drift tendrils of a whispered dream that still is not quite dead. Celestial cloud carved characters click chattering castanets As unicorns on new mown lawns watch sunbeams in their nets Creep stealthily down twilight wine to disappear from view Like secret shadowed mysteries you knew were not quite true, And evening smiled in dark crushed velvet with inordinate disdain As far away, another day prepared itself again, For days can tell you many things and make you wish for more Like another whispered sunrise through a partly open door… The Silence of Life Not a leaf fluttered over the silence Not a whisper unwound on the dawn Silent butterfly streams kept their wings furled While the sun in the sky was reborn, Even echoes were wrapped in serenity As they came back to where they belonged, To the lips that had sent them on errands To the halls where the dancing dreams thronged. Then the silence so slowly abated As the hours intermingled again, With tired voices so slowly awakening With the pit-a-pat metronome rain, And the sweet breathing sighs of the ocean Come to call on the voice of the breeze, As the hilltop once more ever timeless Watched the trawlers set out to the seas. Yet the glow in the eyes of forever Matched the fire in the heart of again, Like a door that is always left open Like a candle that burns in the rain, And in soothingly rhythmical colours The sky and the sea blend as one, As the wings of far seabirds catch fire While the silence of life wanders on… Keith Robson, 66, is a poet living on the Northeast coast of England. Related Post ‘To a Red-Winged Black Bird on the Advent of Spring... To a Red-Winged Black Bird on the Advent of Spring For some a robin heralds in the Spring. Others: a crocus or a daffodil. My old man claims it’s... Tell the world:FacebookTwitterTumblrPinterestRedditLinkedInEmail One Response AJ March 22, 2013 Most certainly my favorite poet on this site. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email.