The leaves fell down

by Harry Moore



  Preface

  This small book comprises poems spanning several generations from the early 1960s until this day (2013). It contains juvenilia as well as more mature works. They tell of hope, love, aspirations and of frustrations and disappointments, of distractions and despair. They are part of the personal story of the author, nothing more.

  Copyright Harold Moore 2013

  I should have gone to Prague at twenty-three.

  I should have gone to Prague at twenty-three.

  I should have made an effort to be free.

  Of all those trappings of suburban life

  That drew and beckoned me to take a wife

  And sink in urban paradise

  I saw my student friends go on one by one

  Until they all completely now were gone.

  To chase ideals, I said I'd follow

  But my words I knew rang hollow

  And fell on saddened doubting eyes.

  Instead, life took me in complacency

  Through doors and corridors that were not me.

  Those socialistic idealistic dreams

  Were nothing but scholastic schemes

  Of searching youth beguiled by lies.

  Or so I liked to say, explain away

  Why I'd let life and wife take me away

  For were those lies that filled my eyes

  Or was it truth borne in disguise

  Of words corrupted in the speech.

  Although regrets I cannot hide

  Eventually I found the truth beside

  The River Rhine and by the DOM

  Left standing by the bomb

  I met a boy from Prague.

  I asked him how and why, what he would be

  "Why nothing else but to be free"

  Is what he replied, but not to me

  He said it to my wife and she

  Replied "It’s you who are free, not we"

  The truth hurts.

  The look upon your face betrayed

  Your thoughts. While I kept silent

  Fearing your first words, although

  I knew you had to utter soon

  Those words that fell like

  Ashes on my splintered brain.

  The snare

  I saw your first stumble

  I watched whilst you fell

  I cried while you crawled

  The slippery wall

  Of the bottomless lightless well

  Prefix

  And sometimes when the steps are out of tune

  Stumbling to the door I held before

  Wonder if the lamps hold any secret

  Of the many lies that greet your eyes.

  The bus journey

  My song is love unknown

  of my sincerity,

  which with the wind has grown

  into simplicity.

  But if unheard

  I whisper up above

  and like a dove

  descend upon the earth

  where whistling grass enrobes

  my flowing verse, nursed by the stream of luring water’s dream.

  I strum a harp of gold

  To very gull I see

  And sing a song untold

  From hill and vale and tree.

  But if in vain,

  I crawl the lowest bed

  Of mud banked river dead

  To catch my lover’s breath,

  That sighs from highest hill and cries from ocean’s depth

  I know, that angel’s breath

  I’ll share eternally.

  Like gentle waters flow

  Down sloping mountains free

  And pink carnations grow

  Upon the pool’s green lee

  When geese descend

  Upon the lake in flocks

  Fluttering their snow white frocks

  Across the paling sky

  That shadows rustling leaves

  And hides the swaying tree

  So shall my heart respire

  As it desires

  With thee.

  I have not a penny

  I have not a penny to buy you a rose

  Or bring you a wine from the riverside vine

  I only have teardrops to show in my eyes

  And laughter to cheer you whenever you cry.

  A song I can sing you when you’re feeling sad

  A bluebell to bring you when you break my heart

  I only can give you whatever I have

  And all I can give you, I give you my heart.

  Looking out of the factory window

  Sometimes when I look out of the window

  And see the houses, backyards, bricks of red

  Nothing seems important except you.

  But other times,

  Especially when I’m not alone

  And people flock around and mother me,

  My head is filled with families and friends

  Commitments that I know I cannot keep

  And all I long for

  All I scream for

  Is that those thoughts should leave my head

  And leave me to the backyards, bricks of red.

  Guilt

  Stain my lips and burst to speak

  Blossoms shine upon my cheek.

  Dance the stairs and trip the floor

  Flowing to the backward door.

  Shame upon me son of mine.

  Mints of jasmine in my hair

  As I dance the wayward stair.

  Past comfort by a mile

  Past comfort by a mile and see

  The shadow on your shoulder.

  Past caring till the dawn of grey

  No longer haunts your morning dream.

  Discard the buds of tenderness

  And stem the mellifluous flow

  And try to think just what you’ve done

  For now you can

  Without a lens

  Just gaze upon

  Reality.

  In and out

  In and out

  From and to

  Going down the stairs.

  Shoes that squeek,

  Stairs that creak,

  Give the game away.

  In a shelter

  By a kiosk

  Peering through the dark.

  On the front

  Down the back

  Chills the heart away.

  I can see

  They don’t know.

  I watch their mistakes.

  When they hide,

  All their pride

  Has been given away.

  Morning never sees your face

  Morning never sees your face in silence.

  You may shout your last word to the night,

  Tale your clarion to its fall

  From the mind into the day.

  Let your best friend see the

  Meaning of these words

  That he may know

  In the night

  You died

  Dead

  A tree is not a flower.

  A tree is not a flower till the green

  Has shaded every crispy crackled stem.

  A love is not a marriage until when

  The love once given has been given again.

  I am there if you want me

  The light was still, the night was gone.

  I started and arose.

  Rushing down the slope I leapt

  Upon the early train.

  She was there and with a smile

  Came and sat beside me.

  I told her;

  Eyes like meadows in the sun,

  Lips a breath of incense in the dew,

  Hair as night, a velvet cape

  Cast

  Upon your shoulders.


  We clasped and laughed

  And loved this day.

  Now we were as one.

  The light stood still, the night had gone

  Rushing down the slope I leapt:

  The early train had gone.

  Humility

  Many times an hour has passed

  Above my door and never seen

  What has been

  My inspiration for many years.

  I see a man begin to fly

  And now a cellar humbles me

  To dream

  Small fragile things I have not held

  Nor tempted me.

  A rainy night with blustering wind

  Rattle door and damp on window

  Came a singer

  Naked as night.

  Upon her breasts she wore a leaf

  And flowers studded on her cheek.

  I tried to flee.

  She followed me.

  Around my room a song she threw.

  I tried to flee

  no shadow cast

  so I knew

  I need not flee but re-awake

  but as I woke she multiplied

  until the ceiling shook with song

  and I collapsed, a heap

  and laughed, not mirth

  but laughter of

  a sleepers wake.

  Rise and crestfallen

  Lasting though the silence may be

  the misuse of the steel inflames

  the mystery of its arts

  until the drummer beats the beat

  that passes with the heart.

  Silent though the streets may be

  the silence splinters soon

  as nail and leather crack the pave

  and knotted hands release the loom

  to clasp a smaller wooden frame

  and thrust it to the screeching sky.

  Silent mouths expectantly

  Untrousered knees begin to flee

  and drive the surging vengeanfull brood

  to steaming wheels and paper boats that travel through the sultry night.

  Above the tiles the humming birds

  caress the shifting clouds, and all that was has gone before and vanished out of sight.

  Small silence broke now breaks again

  and all that stirs is scurried by

  and shuttered out of sight.

  The quiet routine of the day

  is only shattered by the gloom

  that brings the moon to disappear

  while other lunacy appears

  to hide the sky in droning moans.

  Soft scattering of the humming bird

  And beds lie empty.

  Many men are mourning now

  and many women wailing.

  Lost the man-child of their fears.

  Lost the emblem of their tears.

  They their voice of silence begged

  as the voice had beckoned them

  suddenly to stop the world.

  But the voice now fallen, spent

  from its nest down in the south

  stumbled to the watchful gate

  and put a bullet in its mouth.

  Finale

  Something made me find you

  Yet it seems

  A failure if I leave you

  To the pack to guard alone

  The den that we had built.

  If I could substitute another me

  Another friend, I would not sleep

  Not even then

  For conscience would

  Not be a friend to me.

  I lie alone.

  My thoughts, like wine, are spilt and spent.

  My heart, like pulp, is wrent and worn.

  I am not good

  But no man is

  And in the street

  With other men, I am at one

  And unashamed

  Can boast with them.

  At night I find

  The peace I thought

  Would bring me you

  Has shattered all

  My alleluias.

  If I scream

  I fear the light

  Would break my world

  And leave me nothing

  But your like mind

  To call away,

  And if I pray

  I fear the sky

  Descend

  Upon my pagan head.

  Summer deeds hail they that fled

  From summer magic through our door

  To take our drink and dine

  And take our love.

  I only try and try alone

  for now I know I am alone.

  My dreams, my pains, are not for you.

  I cannot share, except with me.

  We run, we climb, we think alike.

  There is a lot

  But every day

  I see the signs that guide my thoughts.

  I see them vanish one by one

  Until I find

  I cannot stray.

  I have lost a lot

  Of time, of love, a lot of God

  Now life is blank

  No end, no fall.

  I am not brave, there is something

  That brought me here

  And makes me stay.

  I wonder

  I wonder if you wonder

  How I felt about you on that day.

  We walked for miles

  And talked for hours

  And jumped the puddles in the lane.

  You came across serenely

  Like the photographs I took;

  Though smiling rather shyly

  Like the images I keep.

  Oh girl! You are a precious thing.

  It’s painful loving you.

  But I want you, yes I do.

  I do.

 

  If only we had met before

  If only we had met before,

  another time, another place.

  If only mesmerised by you

  Your charms, your ways, your happy smile

  I would not want another way;

  nor dread the dawning of the day

  without you.

  A young girl coming out of hospital after chemotherapy

  Can I see life beyond the sun

  where shadows have not yet begun

  to cast autumnal thoughts

  upon the hopes I hope are real

  and feelings that are not yet surreal

  betrayals of doomed destiny.

  The light that once had gone from me

  has settled in uncertainty.

  and comes to me again.

  I have few fears. I’m only young

  I know that Spring has sprung

  and hope returns again.

  The sun is shining, Wagtails hop

  across the searching budding crop

  and optimism blooms.

  Can I resume my world again

  dispensing memory and pain

  that beckon me

  I will be free.

  I will be free,

  again.

  Falling on this glassy place

  Falling on this glassy place

  from fields of fire in distant space

  Little child in innocence

  breathing in the air cadenced

  Humanity’s incense.

  Peaceful waters turn the sky

  upon itself; the mirror flies

  to showers of deathly dust

  reflecting souls lie crushed

  unearthly hush.

  Quiet singing in the breeze

  Of lifting leaves and stirring trees

  while she floats and like Shalot

  in solitude accepts the plot.

  An evening’s sunset at the children’s hospice

  Tom was a shadow in the evening sun

  when I saw him lying there.

  His lips were bare

  of heavenly love.

  He could not see

  He could not hear

  but he
was there for me.

  We sat around him and watched him go

  away from twilight’s door.

  into the sun

  and way beyond.

  He ran around, a year ago

  He was a boy

  and lived like any boy.

  From mother down to mum it came

  and never went away

  until his head confused and tired

  gave up.

  The leaves fell down.

  The leaves fell down

  upon the street below

  The words came together

  as I arrived that day

  You were there

  in my mind.

  You were there

  you were there every day

  I knew these feelings would reach to you

  I knew they would come to you

  wherever you are.

  The trees were bare

  I rushed back to the office when the trees were bare.

  You were there, by the Square and the Green

  You had to go to see a friend and in the end

  By the fountain of cream

  I knew the end was there by the Square and the Green.

  The Archbishop’s dilemma

  I read the book and saw the page

  My head was filled with glowing rage

  To think I’d opened up my heart

  To see a secular upstart

  Split molecules of mind

  Where I had been so kind.

  The light was gone away from me

  From purpose to insanity

  Yet over and away the thought

  Trouble that I knew I’d bought

  By my stupidity

  And my naivety.

  I oversee diversity

  With diocesan brevity

  Yet over and above the world

  The song is loudly un-uttered

  Though it will be in time

  A tune no longer mine.

  Upon publication of the official biography of Dr Runcie - 1996

  With Georgina in the Summerhouse

  The moon was new but I never knew

  The clock had lost its face

  “We’ll do the deal in a day or two”

  But the sun was never raised.

  Interminably long the stress became

  My source of staying alive

  Intoxication took the blame

  Though morning was a crime.

  Early morning, early night I came

  And went and came back again

  Until the deal could be concluded

  Yet all the time

  The only place I wanted to be