Say you’d tell me
When warm thoughts are no more
Say you’d let me know
When your feelings run cold
I’m not yet used to this
Expressing emotions one to one
I am fragile like an eggshell
Cracked so easily
No seasoned liar awaiting payment
For favours given
If I walk on your sensibilities
Rebuke me
Send me back in time
When nothing passed between us
I’ll understand
But tell me
Norman Turkington
What beauty there is in death
When autumns child is upon us
Her gentle breath kissing the leaves
And they in their innocence
Curl and blush a gentle red
And sighing await their destiny
A kiss again as autumns child grows
No longer so gentle
Sucking the life
As red turns purple
And death is upon them
Having had her way she pouts
And blows a chilling wind
No use to her the leaves
Fragile brown and dried
Take flight from the mother tree
And drift to meet the earth
Mother Nature great in her bounties
Welcomes each withered leaf like a long lost
And takes it to her bosom
Promising redemption when spring calls once again
Norman Turkington.
Deep within a midnight moment,
Half remembered, half forgot,
I saw a vision, mist enshrouded,
Part was beauty, part was not.
The part in light was lithe and lovely,
All in white with golden hair
That coiled and fell about her shoulders,
To frame a face both pale and fair.
She raised a hand, I rose to follow,
And through the mists I stumbled down
Until I saw the part in darkness
That made me wear the thorny crown.
The Yorkshire Poet & Friends 