The Web Poetry Corner
DreamMachineThe Web Poetry Corner is a Dream Machine Site
The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web
Google

The Web Poetry Corner

Frank S Rickards

of

Oswaldkirk, England, UK

Home Authors Alphabetically Authors Date Submitted Authors Country Submission Rules Feedback



If you have comments or suggestions for Frank S Rickards, you can contact this author at:
faff@okirk.freeserve.co.uk (Frank S Rickards)


Find a book store near you, no matter where you are located in the U.S.A.!


Cerzan

...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

Gypsy's Photo Gallery


The Sign of Peace

by

Frank S Rickards

'Let us offer each other
The sign of peace.'

Not too easy
If you are on your own
Way down the Gospel side
With the other worshippers
Light years away at the back.

So, of course I did nothing
Except smile a dry smile
To myself, for company
and consolation.

Then the heavy footsteps
Down the long aisle
And suddenly my hand was gripped
By a total stranger.

'Peace!' he said
'Abundant peace!'
And he rolled the bones
Of my hand round
Until they detonated
Like Chinese firecrackers.

'The same to you,' I said
rather lamely.

And then, by God's grace
He let my hand go.
It ached for the rest of the Mass.

So did my heart, a little.


Girl in a Train

by

Frank S Rickards

You wear your calm
Like porcelain
Taking cool and fragile care
Not to look at me.

But your reflected self,
Mirrored in the window,
Moving through the leafless trees,
Mistily over frosted fields
Blooded with winter sun,
That self regards my reflection
Boldly, steadily.

It is our ghosts who sit
In these substantial seats;
Our honest selves
Kiss in the glass.

Porth Ceriad

by

Frank S Rickards

You tread gingerly
Over the pebbles
Balancing like Picasso's clown
On a ball;

The waves fold
And launder the long sand
And high above the cliffs
Skylarks ring sanctuary bells.

Still you walk carefully
Over the washed stones
Arms gracefully balancing
And you don't look back.

I guess that before
You reach the pool
Between the pebbles
And the sea's edge
You will turn.

But you walk on
More easily now
Through the shallow water,
Shedding sea-light
With every step;
And the waves
Gather their green
And darken and fold
And spread their lace
At your feet.

(Strong and lovely
On your skin
The lion-gold sun!)

And now you turn
And come towards me
And in your eyes
A memory of lost horizons.

Escape from a Cocktail Party

by

Frank S Rickards

Every leaf
At this green hour
Stands pricked black
Printed neat on a night
Tinted green as the turning wave.

The barn owl
Unblinks in the cedar
And a moon,
Cool as porcelain,
Swans over the rimless dark.

Across the lawn,
In the lantern house,
I see the cocktail puppets.
They jerk and twist and shout
And gin it down
And everything is
'Absolutely FANTASTIC, darling...'

And so,
Lord of owl,
And of the stars,
And of the green night,
Accept my kinship,
And build your silence round me
Strong as a city wall.

A Curlew Cries

by

Frank S Rickards

A curlew cries
And your youthful head
Filled with summer slumber
Lies cradled in my arm.
A light wind from the sea
Shakes your neck curls.

You do not question
Why or how or when
But put your hand in mine
And sleep like a loved child.

O for that other land
Where love brings no loss,
Nor final contradiction.

To Justin, brother and friend.

by

Frank S Rickards

The waves on the wind's whip
Down-fold hard and lay their loud anger
Over the ribbed and sounding sand.

Dunlins in shell-grey shallows
Trip and start and stab and stop
Over reflections, light-splintered,
Wind-shivered in sea-light:
And gulls with savage side-ways knock
Break mussels and release
Soft salt-flesh of sea.

There is a dust of shells
On the sun-sharp sand,
And the sea's hand
Draws lines of time and tide
Eternally.

Lovely in the Eyes.

by

Frank S Rickards

Lovely in the eyes of my love
Is the God who lives there
And soft as moonlight on magnolia
The calm of her deep regard.

Spring Power

by

Frank S Rickards

This morning,
When Jenny wren
Was fluting out
The yellow dawn
On Peckforton Hill,
I was staring
At my oaken wardrobe
(Thinking of nothing)
When suddenly
It BURST INTO LEAF.

Peacock and Steel-bright

by

Frank S Rickards

Peacock and steel-bright
The jointed dragon-fly
Alights on a green blade
Of purple iris.

Faithfully reflected
In the black pools
Of its pop-out eyes
Is an image of itself,
Entire and irridescent.

Its delicate and continual approval
Is conveyed in the vibrato quiver
Of its veined wings.

To Tinny-boy

by

Frank S Rickards

Between a boy and his kite
Is a tension
Of wonder and watchfulness.

The string purrs approval.

Shirts

by

Frank S Rickards

You wash my shirts
With care
Rubbing the collars,
Rubbing the cuffs,
Rinse
And peg them on the line
To be unfurled
And filled with the flying wind.

And then,
With care,
You gather and iron
And gently fold
And lay them on my bed
Like flowers...

So with love, my love, thet are washed,
And with love, my love, they are worn.

No Good Cause to Stay

by

Frank S Rickards

If someone were to ask me
Someone were to say
'One question you can have
Before the light of day
Sets on your soul for ever'
I would say-
'Is he risen?'
And if the answer's "Yes!"
You can have my night of terror, My sin and grief and pain
And all the things that keep me
In this heavy clay,
If the answer's "Yes!"
There is nothing more to say.
No good cause to stay.

Profit and loss

by

Frank S Rickards

The cock crows—
Not a red, up-tongued,
Green-edge-of-the-day cry,
But in the far-away,
Almost a call.

He had sent me, the priest,
To walk the hills alone
And tell him how I stood—
With God or with the world.

I remember the shepherds at their tent
And how they bowed and offered me
The bitter milk-cheese of their sheep
And how their grave courtesy stayed with me
Until the long day had gone
And high over the Umbrian hills
Stars began to needle the night.

Without prayer I lay down and slept.
And then the dawn, sudden and clear,
Swept the stars from the night,
And the cock crew
--Not a red, up-tongued,
Green-edge-of-the-day cry,
But in the far-away,
Almost a call.

The Contestants

by

Frank S Rickards

There are two great contestants
The spirit and the flesh.
For the existence of both,
And the certain death of one,
We have the evidence.

To Brother Jim

by

Frank S Rickards

Rainbow oil
Lies on the slack swell
And we slip moorings
And push out into the Sound.

Astern, a cluster of lights
On the harbour wall
Recede and vanish.

And this is the pattern
Of all our days—
A pushing out from safe harbours
Into the dark.

The Moorhen

by

Frank S Rickards

Nothing is quite so intense,
So fastidious and donnish,
As the moorhen’s meticulous walk
Through blades of bright grass
By the water’s edge.

Hesitantly he lifts a spindly leg
And hesitantly puts it down.
Quaint and thoughtful
As a bird in a tapestry
He threads his way
Through the speared daisies,
And sends a dagger-load of sun-fire
Flying from the kingcups.