Snapshot: First Impression

A moment tinged with wariness,
A sense that danger’s coming near;
A feeling that she can’t express,
A vague, but unrelenting, fear –

She sees a face she loves and knows:
Her sister smiling, drawing close,
So tries her unnamed dread to stay
And meet her sister’s fiancée

Bote

[Note: the word is pronounced “boat”. – Owen]


The true bote of our guilt and shame,
The expiation of our hate,
To own the truth and take the blame,
And not to self-exonerate

These medieval virtues seem
And ancient wisp or fading dream:
For now, all innocence is bought,
And our one sin is getting caught


From Middle English bōte (“advantage, benefit, profit; relief, salvation; atonement, amends, expiation; cure”)


Picture credit : Yung Chao Chen

The Mist Upon the Lea

There is a mist upon the lea,
There is a journey far to make —
There’s one for you, and one for me,
And many diff’rent paths to take

And more: a way that has no trail,
And of it, we must have avail,
To find out what it means to be
Amid the mist upon the lea

A Classic Car

A classic car that takes me back
To times, indeed, ere I was born;
With gleaming chrome and tires black
By beaches on a summer’s morn —

A world from movies only known,
That probably is overblown
Within a mind that pictures bliss
In salad days with rides like this

Past Paris

Past Paris, out near Claye-Souilly,
Beside a small and blue canal,
She had me stop so we could see;
Such was, I think, her rationale —

We then we went to a hotel bar
And drank our fill of Pinot noir,
And laughed and sang and swayed and played,
Past Paris, where mistakes
Get made