Two more poems by Lewis Watling of Fish Hoek

So I Kissed the Golden Softness

I sat alone. The radio blared loud,

bristling with the latest story

of Man’s inhumanity to Man.

I turned it off, sought for a taste of glory

that told of the magnificence of our lives’ endless plan.

But still my wretched mood prevailed until, like stars,

the yellow roses spilled their sunlight from their vase.

So I kissed the golden softness

of a single yellow rose.

I need so much to share that thrill with everyone I knew;

the natural perfection

of everything that grew.

I lost myself in beauty, regained my own direction;

felt the blissful restoration of the heart that knows.

So I kissed the golden softness

of a single yellow rose.

It is us who have stopped growing;

us who cling to things;

us who think that we should be exempt

from the contra-temps that our living brings;

us who pursue the unrealities we dreampt

to plunder our rich earth’s bounteous store;

know what we have done – and yet still look for more.

So I kissed the golden softness

of a single yellow rose.

Yes, I kissed the golden softness

Of a single yellow rose.

The Isle Of ISOPIRIM

There’s a Sometime, Somewhere, Island

that’s neither East nor West.

It is shrouded in mist, but it’s my land,

a land that I know best.

So many times I’ve been there,

to that clouded acronym,

but still I lack the will to dare

the promise of the Isle of ISOPIRIM.

If only I would listen,

if only I, would care,

the raindrops would all glisten;

there’d be flowers everywhere.

Alas! our earth is dying.

Alas! the light grows dim

and there’s a mournful, scornful sighing

on the Isle of ISOPIRIM.

If I listen I shall hear it,

Voice of the halcyon Isle,

“Why do I doubt and fear it?.

Smile, child of tomorrow, smile!

I know it lies in my power,

I know that it’s waiting for me.

I am both the Dreamer and Knower

whose nature is born to be free

And that Sometime and Somewhere Island

calls me from the dolour and pains.

It can never be truly my land

if others are struggling in chains.

It is to me this still, small voice is sent

on a Breath that I cannot see.

Illustrious Soul Of Pure Intent

Reside In Me!”

See also

http://scenicsouth.co.za//2012/07/familiars-in-fish-hoek-by-lewis-watling/

http://scenicsouth.co.za//showcasing/our-writers/