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“Over Background Notes of Falling Rain”—Beauty is a Contrast, A Poem


Delicate stems struggle against
The last of winter’s hold;
Flower bundles begin to unfurl
Their temporary secrets
Which have lain hidden
From the cold wind’s hurl


The ancient bluebell blankets rise
From hibernating depths; the only ties
To the old world
Being the bare boughs which
Remain as they have always stood,
Guarding those secrets, as they should


Great beeches rise like smooth columns
Casting emergent serrated leaves
Over swaying snowdrops below;
Clusters of dainty hats, dancing
Until decay, shaking off those shadows
As seeds develop in green-hued sheathes


Season’s pendulum tilts and swings,
Winter-muted jays begin to sing;
Gliding like paper aeroplanes
Through softly falling petals
And over ponds of shimmering metal


Transient landscapes tend towards the last,
But not quite reaching—
Silences roar into orchestral pieces,
Written by a composer who is teaching
The virtue of dichotomous movements,
For beauty is a contrast.


Water morphs and merges into myriad shapes
Lightly touching the shore with damp fingers.
A slight breeze stirs up a flurry of sand
And casts
Loops and lines in the air; like a fishing line
Let fly from an absent hand,
Over an invisible fishing boat, unmanned


Naturally a tempest follows,
Waves whipping through rocky hollows
As a rhythmic counter;
To prevent an ocean of excess:
To challenge the school of aesthetes
That they might abandon their thoughts for less?
Because beauty is a contrast.


One could find comfort in her company
Or wrapped in the calming cadence of her voice,
She carries herself with a soignée grace
Where one finds that in the surrounding space
A tendency for fear to evaporate;
For life to return to a previous state,
But beauty is a contrast?


Both brave and fragile in equal measure,
Golden brown eyes yield some of their treasure
Imbued, just slightly with a saddening plea,
Lost; like a pair of misplaced swans out at sea


During those times I wish to outstretch my hands
And whistle: send a message over the open ocean
For the wind to coax and gently blow the swans
Inwards, to land back safely on undisturbed sand


Despite the changes in natural tone,
Of reasons I confess not to understand,
She must know, she is never alone;
There will always be someone to venture
With her on any journey unplanned


Once through a swift intake of breath:
To let me know that the swans had
Found their way,
I thought I heard her inaudibly say
Over background notes of falling rain:
“Beauty is a contrast”

And I love her.



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