The Wherry

Tall sails drifting through the landscape,
tacking to and fro, catching the wind.
Passing wind powered water pumps,
draining the land, feeding the river.
Carrying goods to town and city,
these masters of the inland waterway.

Such a sight it must have been,
now used for our simple pleasures.
The workhorse of the Norfolk Broads,
resting on it’s laurels in the morning breeze.
Waiting to tempt you out into the day,
offering sights only found on the water.

Restored and rebuilt, they sail on
into the sunset of a long Broadland day.
A sight once seen never forgotten among the fields and trees,
this working boat of the hard landsman.
Gliding by wind pump and tower,
she sails on evermore, a rare sight to see.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Before I Sleep

The candles burn on, casting long shadows
in a now empty room where we once sat.
Relaxing on the sofa I think back over the evening,
cooking our meal together in the kitchen, laughing.
Me learning new ideas about my food,
you smiling as I fumble through the recipes.

Talking as we ate, the food exciting and new.
Candlelight flickered over our faces as we laughed,
talking about our interests and little observations.
We talked late into the night, then you had to leave.
Darkness fighting the candles as I sit reminiscing,
absorbing the aura of the evening before I sleep.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

The Fisherman

Sitting on the beach watching the fisherman
casting their nets, hoping for a catch of the day.
Dreaming of a time when I am ready
to buy my own boat and nets to go fishing.
Equipment is important, as is experience out at sea,
you cannot hope to catch a fish without either.
I spend my days researching the best boats and nets,
watching the fishermen everyday, learning their skills.

The time eventually came when I bought a boat,
my nets were second-hand but in good order.
I spent my days dreaming of that big catch,
casting my nets to no avail, going hungry.
Still I dreamt of the good times ahead,
catching the one that would sustain my life.
Then out of the deep blue sea I caught my fish,
it came in easily, bringing much needed life.

After such a fine catch, I considered myself complete.
I forgot about my boat and nets, not thinking of the future.
They lay abandoned on the beach, bleaching in the sun
as I gorged myself on this wondrous bounty I had snared.
I thought this fish would last me a lifetime,
never thinking that the sustenance would run out.
Run out it did, now I find myself back on the beach,
repairing my nets, patching holes in my boat.

As I carry out my repairs, I look out to sea
watching the fishermen casting their nets once again.
I realise I am still so inexperienced as a fisherman,
having caught just one fish in all my life.
Needing to learn to cast my nets more efficiently,
spending more time assessing the other fishermen’s tactics.
Some seem careless, casting their nets hither and thither,
others seem more careful, waiting for tide and light.

Once again I am ready to go fishing,
to catch the fish of my dreams, sustain myself.
Will I do the same as before? Catch my fish,
abandoning my boat and nets, probably!
Greedy is not how I would describe myself,
one fish at a time is ample sustenance for me.
I do not fish for more when I have fish in my basket,
so I’ll sit in my boat, casting my nets, dreaming.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Boy On Step

 

Dad said we would go today,
we would visit mum today.
Dad promised we would go yesterday too.
We didn’t go!
Dad sits crying but he wont tell me why.
He has sat crying for three days.
Everyday he says we’ll go and see mum.

Friends come round, sitting with dad,
they all give him a hug
and I get one too.
They all leave with tears in their eyes
looking at me,
ladies giving me big sloppy kisses.
I just want my mum!

Dad says we might not see mum anymore!
Where is she?
She was in hospital the other day,
she laughed and joked with me
but she was crying.
I asked her why she was crying
and dad brought me home.

Three days since I saw my mum.
She cooks better than dad.
He doesn’t bake cakes or anything!
I’m just going to sit on this step
until mum comes home!
I love my dad but,
I want my mum.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Lonely People

 

People sitting alone on the bus,
in the park, in the cinema, at home.
They wait for a life to arrive,
alone with no one to think of them.
Why are so many people alone,
when they could be sharing their life?

Some are alone through choice,
healing from a relationship breakdown.
Some are ready to start anew,
looking for that perfect someone.
Some are waiting for that first love,
with all the excitement that entails
Some are simply alone,
living a life, not prepared to share.

Others are where they are
through no choice of their own.
A partner passed away
through illness, accident, age.
Left behind to pick up the pieces
of two lives tragically become one.

You see these faces every day,
some searching faces for a sign.
You see a yearning in their eyes,
a yearning that perhaps, they see the one
We all do it, looking into lonely eyes,
searching for a smile in return.
We are alone in our bodies, always.
We have the desire to share the worldly.

We may have been hurt,
abandoned by our previous love.
We all have it within us to love,
or love again if necessary.
To share your life is such a gift,
bringing hope and laughter as you share.

So be brave when eyes are searching yours,
smile back with your best smile.
Eyes glinting in the sunlight
may bring something more than love.
Respect, friendship, companionship
are just as important, if not more.
The next time I see your eyes,
I will smile, hoping you smile back.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

The Hunter

 

He stalks after dark,
prowling in the shadows.
Creeping through the undergrowth,
slinking up the alleys.
Stalking his prey,
he creeps up, silent.
The faintest sound is heard
as he attacks!
His timing perfect,
his prey trapped by the throat.
He goes in for the kill!
The crunch of bone
as the hunted dies quickly.
Rats squeal in the alley.
Purring to himself,
he sits to eat his late night meal.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

The Path

Lined by forest trees, as if on guard,
the path leads ever on into the distance.
Sunlight only between the noon hours,
else dappled is the light that falls.
Shadows follow every footstep, every mile.
Sounds of nature all around, creatures unseen.

The track is a well trodden trough,
worn deep by those that went before.
On either side long grass offers resting places
for the weary travellers who chose this way.
Yet rarely is the grass flattened
by those that took up this resplendent offer.

Phantoms of travellers that went before,
drifting by as if carried on the air.
Their faces turned toward their goal,
walking silently, heads held high.
Those that decide to walk this way,
walk alone, no aid or comfort carried.

They do not walk on a pilgrimage,
this way is a choice for life, taken freely.
Discarded are the burdens of wealth,
replaced by the freedoms of choice.
Free from the troubles of man
and his religions, loves and hates.

Anyone can take the path if they so choose,
there are no restrictions, rules of entry.
To walk freely without woes,
to be free of unkindness, cruelty.
Be consumed by one overwhelming passion,
to never reach the end, and walk forever.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Time

And so life continues,

the seconds tick by turning into minutes,

hours and days never losing their rhythm.

Time is an odd sensation,

we cannot touch it, drink it or eat it,

yet still it marches on

whether we watch the clock or not.

Our only visual signs of times passage,

day turning to night,

back to day once again.

The travels of our sun and moon,

stars at night floating through the black.

The clock ticking on the wall,

a man-made device to show it's passing.

Man's need to count the days means little

when you think of how many days there are.

No man will ever see them all,

nor count to include the final one.

We name the days, give them numbers,

all meaningless in the passage of time.

One day none of us will be here

to recollect this passage through time.

It will be someone else’s turn

to ponder the meaning of times rhythm

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Happy?

To think, all I ever wanted was to be happy.

Not one for fast cars (or fast women),

that happy-go-lucky fella with a smile on his face.

Endeavouring to be a good friend to those

that accept my friendship, expecting little in return.

Happily cooking for you, entertaining you,

the butt of your jokes with a smile on my face.

All I ever wanted was to make you happy!

Where did it all go wrong for me?

I was the one looking for happiness,

now it's you I'm trying to please!

When did I stop thinking about me

and start trying to please you?

Why have I stopped caring about me?

Questions start running through my mind,

creating turmoil as they bounce around my skull.

After all these years I finally stopped to think!

Why did I stop?

What do I think?

Where does all this thinking take me now?

It is not a case of stopping my life while I think,

I have to get on, life is passing me by!

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Tomorrow is a new day (Beginning)

Tomorrow is a new day,

the beginning of the unknown.

The people we meet and talk to,

are looking for something new in us.

Whether it be words or ideas,

we need to fulfil this desire,

if only for ourselves to say that we achieved it

and take pride in our small achievement.

During this new beginning,

we might meet someone new.

Offering new words or ideas,

making us look in a new way.

Joined thinking offers exciting horizons,

it could be family or professional.

We must accept these new approaches,

we may never see them again.

As the door on the old day finally closes,

freeing the way for the new door to open.

So should we accept this new challenge,

with fortitude and grace.

Our lives will become meaningful,

our experiences will be refreshed, renewed.

Do not despair at the ending of today,

for tomorrow is the next beginning.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Waiting

The appointed time had arrived,

I stood waiting.

Would I recognise you from the photo,

people passed by.

There you were, walking towards me,

not recognising me.

My photo must either be very bad,

or not representative.

Holding my breath, I walk towards you,

saying your name as I close in.

You look to me, smiling, grateful to see me,

you were not stood up.

We talk hurriedly, where should we go?

A café around the corner.

Our chatter slows down, we scrutinise,

giving each other a once over.

We walk towards the café, talking nothings,

are you as nervous as me?

We enter, find a table and get served our coffees,

we look at each other.

The talking starts, we talk and talk,

like long lost friends.

Our hour passes all to quickly,

I want more.

We leave the café agreeing to contact,

swapping numbers.

Now here I sit, do I call you so soon?

It was only this morning.

I want to talk and talk like we did today,

already I miss you.

I email you, now I await your reply,

waiting!

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Inspired by the latest Oxfam Campaign

Here are four poems I recently composed, they are all inspired by the latest Oxfam Campaign about food shortages, highlighting climate change and generally the wrongs in the system.
To read about the Oxfam campaign, visit here Oxfam

 

Climate Change

Seasons change,

as they always have.

Something is wrong,

the seasons don't match

their previous paths

Dry when it should be wet.

Wet when it should be dry.

Floods wash away crops.

Drought kills crops.

Winds wreck crops.

Food that should feed,

dies as the farmer watches.

Helpless.

Families suffer.

Children starve.

Livestock falters,

Children die!

We may not be able to alter

the damage we have done.

Let's feed those that suffer,

because of our avarice.

They did not cause this nightmare,

they are paying the consequences.

It's time to think differently,

The System's Bust!

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Land Grabs.

Can you imagine how it must feel,

to have the land you need to survive,

the land you call home, taken away?

You live on a smallholding,

farming enough to survive,

enough to feed your family.

Along comes this man,

he says you must leave your home,

go away, at the point of a gun!

This is done in the name of progress,

you starve to make others rich.

Others starve alongside you.

The man gets rich on your loss,

the land goes to waste, fallow.

Nothing grows where once stood crops.

How do you feel now?

It’s time to think differently,

The System’s Bust!

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Food Price Hikes

How is running a car

more important than eating?

This is a question you would ask,

if you were starving!

How can it be right,

that people starve whilst food rots?

Warehouses full of grain,

rats having the time of their lives.

Think about Africa or India,

continents that daily go without.

Start to think of Europe, the Americas.

Look down your street,

who is going hungry tonight?

Children cry themselves to sleep,

through hunger!

Parents foregoing meals!

Now how do you feel about fuelling your car,

with that biofuel you bought today?

Do you even think of the food waste

that ends up in your bin?

Look in your fridge, what will you eat?

What will be thrown away without regard?

It's time to think differently,

The System's Bust!

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Intensive Farming

You can see for miles,

the big sky, blue overhead.

The flatness of the land,

villages lost in the haze.

Far off church spires

glisten in the sunlight.

Water towers dot the skyline,

even from a distance, dominating.

This is Fenland,

This is Farmland!

Giant machines crawl over the land,

no hedgerows hide their progress,

no trees offering welcome shade.

Irrigation ditches the half-hidden landlines

that cut the land deeply, dividing.

Mile after mile of fertile soil

worked until it can produce no more.

Grain, fruit and vegetables,

destined for western tables,

and ultimately western bins.

Gone are the days when

farming was a way of life.

Living off the land,

selling the surpluses.

We now measure our surplus

by the value tied up in it.

Not in how many mouths it could feed,

not by thinking who will eat tonight?

It's time to think differently,

The System's Bust!

©2011 Trevor Litchfield.

Another day goes by

Another day goes by,
another day in my life forever lost.
So many days have gone this way,
leaving me with a sense of waste.
As I near a half century in years,
those lost days count ever higher.

Am I to leave this realm,
never knowing why it was like this?
I am lucky, I can read, write,
communicate with an audience.
There is a pleasure in that for me.
A satisfaction of reaching others.

If I am lucky, I have a third of my life left.
What to do with that time I am unsure.
I could read myself into oblivion,
for what purpose? Self gratification?
I could write my thoughts for all to see,
a lasting legacy that might live on?

I have no wish to make you despair,
I am not in a maudlin mood.
There are things I want to do (see),
people I would like to meet (love).
But I need to find a purpose,
one that feeds the hunger.

Today I add to my legacy,
more lines from the rhythms of my mind.
Undulating, like the Norfolk countryside
I have made my home.
I share my life with you this way
because I have nothing else to give.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Along the riverbank

Along the riverbank, where the tall reeds grow

Is a place of solitude with only natures silence

The sun shines through, reaching the reedy glade

Offering light for the thoughts within me

I lay me down on the flattened grass

A place I have lain so often this summer

Staring up into the blue and white heavens

Letting my world slip away, easing my soul

Muscles relax after the long walk by the water

Aches seem to drift away, even on this hard ground

As my muscles ease and so my mind is freed

Thinking of what might have been

Thinking of nothing at all, at least trying!

The swirls in the clouds bring life to the sky

Shapes of everyday common objects, formed

I delight in seeing these familiar visions

Common, yet shaped within my thoughts

Reeds rustle as the evening breeze moves in

Time to leave my place of hiding

Taking my place in a misunderstanding world

Marlow in Buckinghamshire
http://www.oldukphotos.com/buckinghamshire_great_marlow.htm

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

A good clear out!

Sometimes your cupboards get over full,

it needs a good clear out of the rubbish.

Old clothes that you no longer wear

need to be sorted and discarded.

That old pair of jeans that are full of holes,

that old shirt that has seen better days.

They all need clearing to make room

for new and different clothes.

Then you turn your attention to the bookcase,

over burdened with books read and unread.

Which should you keep, which to pass on?

There are plenty of new books to fill the gaps

but you have to make the gaps to be refilled.

Your mind churns as does your heart,

memories of this or that one

Good reads all apart from those untouched.

Your rooms are now cleared and tidy,

life feels better, lighter somehow.

All those clothes don't need washing,

all those books don't need dusting.

Sitting back with a mug of tea,

you glory in a job well done.

Time for new beginnings, new clothes,

new books to read, hoping that nothing will be missed.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Misty Morning

Early morning mist casts an eerie spell

dawns early light diffused in vapour

Faerie kisses on the early spring grass

Spiders webs glisten in the hedgerow

Birdsong all around, nature is awake

welcoming the dawn of a new day.

A walker appears through the mist.

A dog trotting ahead, nose high,

leaving paw prints in the wet grass.

The first of many to go this way,

along the riverbank, enjoying life.

Taking in the splendour of the morn.

The river calm in the morning mist.

Rowers sliding their way upstream,

disturbing water fowl as they glide by.

Crews practising for that strenuous day

when they face other boats in competition.

Gentle wakes reach the shore and lap.

Fishermen cast their lines out into the water.

Floats bobbing on the flow, drifting.

A float sinks, a fish is snagged,

reeled in, fighting all the way.

To be weighed and placed in the net,

finally to be set free and caught again.

The sun climbs, the mist evaporates.

Joggers are seen in the distance.

Cyclists glide by on the tow path.

Pleasure craft move in the water,

water fowl disturbed once again

fly into the warm air, squawking.

A lone cormorant keeps vigil

from a derelict post in the water.

Looking deep into the dark fluid,

watching for breakfast within the flow.

It stretches it's wings in anticipation

of that dive into the water, plunging.

And so the riverbank comes alive

bringing life and pleasure to all.

Some are here to escape their lives

others are here because of life.

All are here to feel the oneness

that the riverbank offers us all.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Long Night

Another day reaches it's climax,

darkness shrouds the skyline.

Stars glitter within the dark blanket

Light pollution hides other sights.

Light filters through gaps in the curtains,

proving life goes on when we sleep.

Electricity burned throughout the night,

offering sanctuary from the dark.

The uneaten apple sits on the table

testament to a hunger unfulfilled.

It reflects the artificial light, reddened.

Full of promise, it stays untouched.

Cold coffee stagnates in the mug

resting aside the uneaten apple.

Another sign of desires left discarded,

abandoned to decay in the night.

Shadows fall on common objects,

offering different views to tired eyes.

Shapes unrecognisable yet familiar,

bring different life to the room.

Spectres on the edge of vision,

creep across the room, ghostly.

Headlights travel down the street,

cutting through the gloom of night.

Red eyes stare from one corner,

electric entertainment on standby.

Waiting for light and life to return,

bringing meaning to the room again.

My slow breathing the only sound,

as I sit on the sofa, watching the night.

I think of things to come, things passed,

The night goes on, seconds tick by.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield