Breakers

The cry of the sea, such a lonely call,
as we walk on these stormy shores.
Soft voices, afar, are heard on the breeze,
weeping, alone, full of watery dreams,
we might hardly dare to recall.

The cry of the sea, such a distant call,
as we walk on our land-locked shores.
But our hearts will fill, with a storm that beats
cloud, heavy with thoughts, through the space between,
to hammer our stony walls down.

The cry of the sea, a passionate call,
as my soul swells the fires of hell
through the frozen void of delinquent heaven,
to shatter, on flames of a love, free given,
and claim it, again, as its own.

The cry of the sea, an intimate call,
of a tide that consumes hard land.
Proud mountains will crumble to cliffs, and fall,
at the ocean’s kiss, that devours them all,
but demands no more than it’s owed.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2024

*Thoughts that emerged watching the spring tide at Porthcawl

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Lost

Wasted, mountain moor,
where hard night holds, fast,
shadows, that confuse my crossing paths
into a maze, I cannot navigate.

No torchlight, guiding
homeward, takes me on,
through darkness, thick, which I never sought,
whilst frigid gales howl secrets of my soul.

Fierce, screams this stormwind,
to provoke my fear
and kill the flames ice could never quench
when melting in a warmth I long for, now.

I see no refuge,
save a rocky mass -
a granite skull, beckoning, that grins
for me to freeze, again, in Khayyam's hell.

I won't walk that way,
but bear, still, harsh teeth
of bronze, which I may wield as I will,
against this power of bloodless, tempting cold.

Let me tend my fire -
if needs be, alone,
and for one span more, 'til life revolves,
to give, at last, our glory in the sun.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2024

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Waters Beyond Words

Where are they now?
Those who, smiling, stood upon my seashore,
by an ocean’s sorrow.
Their voices are the wind, diaphanous,
thin record in my slowly darkening mind;
but, I see no record of their footsteps
impressed upon these sands of cruel time.

Beyond my sight,
across the shifting waves, through opaque clouds,
my past has hid itself;
their faces fade into the failing light.
What sense of grief is this? Such strong, slow grip,
bites deeper than the springs where salt-tears rise.
I wept when days were raw; now they weep me.

My words speak not
these inner thoughts that I cannot express.
A loss too long, too far,
too near absorbed, and so, become my own.
The shores of this swift life are swept by waves,
eroding life away from all held dear.
This storm of fleeing souls will never cease.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2023

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Inundation

Traveller, walking mountain paths,
with sharp flints strewn, as shards of broken dreams;
the sun beguiles the sky.
Storm clouds are gathered.
Why does your heart dam tears within dry stone?

Would you rest, walking valley roads?
Along these rain-whipped highlands, life may soar
upon the violent air.
Fear must not impart
desire to wall these tides of weeping love.

Storm does not respect choking stone.
Your heart lies, shattered, by strange tempest’s roar -
a soft call, whispered, clear.
Let a flood break free;
love’s long desire to sing upon the hills.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2023

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Voyage

Captain, helmsman,
guide your silent barque
along the land-line, next a boundless sea.
Your eyes are fixed upon your nearest goal,
from port to safest port,
along a course
long fixed in fear of chaos in the deep.

“I have no guide!
Clouds have hid the night!”
Yet, longing, you would see your compass blaze;
star fires to point your channel through the waves,
whither life awaits you,
calling homeward;
vague memory of harbours, far away.

Stars’ harmonies;
cloud dissolves in song.
Above you, Captain, see a sky-born hand
show your way across far, shining water,
summoning wind’s fury.
Spin hard the wheel
to take your destined route into the void.

Across ocean,
full sails, masts straining,
useless helm, forced on in Mercy’s stormsurge,
unabating, as black Night commanded.
Stand proud upon your search,
seek vast distance
and unknown harbour, promising full rest.

Captain, helmsman,
roar your ecstasy
with foaming waters crashing on your bow;
passion-torn, your sails still bear you onward,
through night and ocean’s seam
to wider sea,
and onward to your home, in star-flamed love.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2023

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Morning Cloak, Evening Veil

Cloud across the mountains
hides enigmatic peaks in ancient tales;
silent song sung through a mystic soul.

Cloud across the twilight,
defied by crescent light, piercing its veil;
hushed, but beckoning - promise of home.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2023

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Llantwit Major

Bare rock,
smooth worn, yet riven of a violent tide;
my seat to face the distant salt-wave roar
across a wide, hard bay
that harbours hidden life between the bones
of earth.

Cold air,
the far sourced bearer of my deep sought news;
link to a soul that flashes through the stars,
across a world of stone
that scarcely seems to give a space for life
to breathe.

Ghost cloud,
hides further shore and hills in mystery;
conceals the sky where dwells our greater selves,
beyond linked hands and hearts –
a universe where all our lives are one,
and touch.

These thoughts
arise within me, born upon the gale,
loud spoken in anarchic cries of gulls,
that scour this silent world
where words die, lost in day’s cacophony,
unheard.

Ocean,
the link of places in this fractured globe,
will sing to us a distance overcome;
air will caress the face
of spirit heights in which we stand as one
on earth.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2023

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Day & Night

In the soft, swift light of morning
we were born out of the dark,
to walk our dreams of daytime –
as we travelled, far apart.
But our dreams were guides of lifetimes,
though we could not see the paths,
and they brought our steps together
as we’d written in our stars.

So, we met, when noon was nodding
at our changing shadows’ length;
walked dreams toward the sunset –
in the hope they’d never end.
Now, the darkness starts to gather
round the foothills of our days;
but we’ll grasp the chance for living
while the sun still sends its rays.

I must leave you, you must leave me,
at the dying of the day,
to walk our dreams of shadow –
though we’re sure to find our way.
Then, when morning’s glow is streaming,
painting figures through the night,
we will link our hands with laughter
and return into the light.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2022

This is a strange one. I was humming a tune for some weeks. Not one I recognise or have heard before. Then the last verse, in outline, just sort of presented itself to me. The first 2 verses grew naturally from that. I do not usually bother with rhyme. Is this a poem, a song, both? Where did it come from? No idea.

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Lohan

Mind, in silence.
Observe the world within, the world without,
but do not judge,
for all is one, and all encompassing.
Smile at all the folly you have known,
within; without.

This strange insight,
apart from all, perceiving all, with gaze
unfixed, yet sure.
Become the seat of peace and clarity;
sit, at ease with all life may demand –
it turns to nought.

Impassively,
expression has no force upon the face
where passion fails.
This non-response, forever, will withstand.
Smile with joy, and sadness, on this world,
being neither.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2022

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Ithaca, my Pledge

From what far shore, unseen, with arms of welcome
Penelope sings yearning words of home?
Across the sea, wine-dark with ancient story,
the storm obscures desire. I am bereft
of wisdom that would know the arrow’s flight.
What path my boat would cleave no longer matters.
A random journey, mine, and blind my haven.

I will not seek her warmth, nor claim her comfort,
where wild ambition veils my surer step
in obscure lusts for hope that stands unfounded.
Needless goals removed – without fulfilment –
I seek the aching songs of solitude
to know my deeper heart, my larger conscience.
A certain journey, mine, but not its ending.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2022

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Fear

View the past.
In memory alone it has existence.
What, then, the cause to fear?

The present.
Each sound and image gone with fleeting moment.
What, then, the cause to fear?

Yet to be,
what may the future hold, anticipated,
is but a cause of fear.

Curious,
those things which yet are not, and have no being
grip strong with cruelty.

A year gone –
but, daily, thresholds threaten the complacent
who seek refuge from fear.

Certainty
is not for me to gift; nor to be given.
This is no cause for fear.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2022

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