Low Ebb
We have been apart too long, my love,
night’s dark corridor lying between us
and neither of us approaching the other
when doors close and blinds are drawn.
The way to the heart of the matter is not
an easy path to walk, not any more.
Our secret ways and dreams lie cold
upon chill, empty sheets and pillows.
Each day the tide revives the beach,
flowing out, abandoning its wet debris
for the sun to perform its magic: fresh
seaweed drying above warm sand.
Sea-birds bury their beaks, writing claw
letters as crabs burrow, dig deep, waiting
for the tide to return and re-create
its alternate reality of dreamy waters.
Half of my bed performs its nightly duty.
The other half lies cold, empty, lonely.
No sea-life wanders there, not even in
my most creative dreams of sun and sand.
Comment: The loneliness of old age is compounded by many factors, including ill-health, sleeplessness, and the need to sleep in separate rooms. How many homeless people suffer that loneliness, and more, and at ages much less than ours? And then there’s the distress of trying to live in poverty, to survive from day to day, with safety net that will not protect us, if we chance to fall. A sad world then, as Polly Toynbee points out in today’s Guardian.
rogermoorepoet 
Roger, this one reminds me of Kahlil Gibran’s “Seasons Of The Heart” which was once my favorite poem. I think now it is the second favorite poem. I’ve read a lot of your poetry as you know, but this is the one! My best to you and the beautiful lady who tolerates you and loves you above all others.
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Ah yes – Pink Floyd – echoes of – “We all need some toleration, we all need some TLC” – well, something like that.
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I was reading it over a few nights ago. More like, “come my love and let us sit before the fire because winter is moving in — we will drink autumn’s wine—“. Wish I could still memorize the way I did in the spring of my life, before I was required to memorize Keats, “A think of beauty is a joy forever, it will never pass into nothingness but will” and at that point I couldn’t remember another word. 5 days I tried to recite that in English Lit class before Sister told me to read it from the book. There was just something about Keats that I never did enjoy!
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Ronsard wrote several poems along those lines (French, 16th Century). It’s a lovely theme. Nothing worse than being forced to learn poetry and then stand up and recite in front of others. It can destroy the beauty of the words.
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It is, but my favorite is Gibran. He was Lebanese poet/prophet. I guess his most popular book was called “The Prophet”. I read them all but the only one I still have is The Seasons Of Love, where he compares it to the raising of grapes for making wine. If I can find it online I’ll send it to you. I found it years ago but not sure where I put it now or if I even have it after my kids decided to get rid of the paper work I had. Not a single poet among them!
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I have the Prophet here in my poetry collection. I like Gibran’s poetry – but I am always wary of translations – as I can see the flaws in the the ones that emerge from French and Spanish. It was Cervantes who said that reading a translation is like looking at the reverse side of a tapestry – there is so much missing.
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