Poets In Their Melancholy: Poem

Poets In Their Melancholy

Poets, with troubled lives and secret thoughts
Have often stood and looked this way
And in this half light, strong and secret
What they thought, nobody can say

As dusk fell, and windows would close
Some words from soft songs would drift in
And take root in the present; some lines
Would nestle in a stranger's heart and brain.

Poets, lost in their melancholy
Lost in the muddle of their lives
Weave verse and rhyme: and thus it is
That their work their lives suvives.

Copyright: Rani Turton

A Clock, A Street, A Tower: Poem

A Clock, A Street, A Tower

There is a clock on a city street
These pavings that have often known my feet
There is a clock, a street and a tower
That is the mystery of love's power.

That stones alone can intense emotion retain
That you can walk forlorn in the pouring rain
That, whatever may happen, years ahead
For me these streets will never, never be dead.

The pain in my heart stops me now:
My faltering steps even begin to slow;
The mist from these mountains stings;
Memories, moments, melancholy and things.

Now behold the time for resolutions
Time can often bring its own solutions;
How do I walk away when familiar voices call
Me back; let me sit on that stone bench and recall.

Copyright: Rani Turton