As a celebrator of other people's poetry, I am all too aware of the inadequacies of my talents
as a poet; but here is a recent effort of which I am not too ashamed:
The sun shines warm on the brickwork behind me.
shadows dance on the tall whitewashed wall.
I'm sitting at peace in my little, old courtyard
And the world doesn't
touch me at all.
Here in the courtyard there are no disasters
are far, far away,
Just me and the slugs and the snails and the bird life.
Communing with God in
our own special way.
I puff on my pipe and I watch all the creatures,
in the bushes and wasps play their part.
They hum as I sip from my glass of Marsala;
There's a feeling of peace
stealing into my heart.
There's a cloud of content from my pipe of tobacco;
a cloud-sculpted castle drifts by overhead.
The blue of the sky is a God-given Blessing
cares of the world have surrendered and fled.
But the courtyard is not just a Summertime pleasure.
Winter I sit there enjoying the day.
When the blue sky is cloudless, the birdsong is noisy
bare trees' buds promise that Spring's on the way.
© Bryan Neville-Lee - October 2011