The bitterness is no longer a surprise It is a daily taste to relish Nothing seems to mean that much Those reaching out can’t feel my touch I have slowly immersed myself in grief And loneliness with the crowd Is found to be a small relief.
And yet, I ask myself tonight What right have I to shun my friends For there I’ll find a sense of peace As bitter feelings find release For they may feel such pain as I And hurt inside as much – and feel That awful, awful need to cry.
Slowly, he sunk to the ground His legs giving way in the mud He tried and tried to get back up But he was stuck there now —- it did no good.
A perfect metaphor of his real life Where he’d slowly fallen down He’d done his best but it wasn’t enough For he never succeeded —-he viewed life through a frown.
And here he was, stuck as never before Half way there, stuck, and not knowing Should he pull himself out and carry on Or should he give up and fall back — and leave self-pity growing.
It comes to us all at some withering point We get hurled to ground by a sense of disgust The world then is no longer our oyster As we reel from mistakes —- in a life filled with distrust.
And at this crossroads we find ourselves Will we crumble where others may thrive Do we possess the courage it takes To man up and gain —- a chance to survive.
The Observation Hill Cross, erected in 1913 as a memorial to Scott and his party.
O God, it is so harsh and very cold But onward and driven, we must go Our journey South so frighteningly bold To reach a Pole where nought will grow,
Rations frozen, now frostbitten fingers Fallen canines reluctantly eaten And feet unfelt where pain just lingers We battle on, we cannot be beaten.
But yet we lost, Amundsen beat us We’ll leave a mark to say we arrived There was no cheer, nor slightest fuss A bitter taste for those deprived.
So few of us remain, a smaller fire will burn Captain Oates stepped out last night, so gallant He said he would just be awhile, but didn’t return Such men have been my comrades, such talent.
Heroes all, this unfortunate company of gallant men Edward Wilson, Edgar Evans, and Henry Bowers Their strength of character I’ve known not when Each one above the norm now towers.
And yet now here, failed, and trying to reach our shore I feel our journey now will end, we are so feeble “It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more R. Scott — for God’s sake, look after our people.”
Robert Falcon Scott made it to the South Pole, though he was beaten there by Roald Amundsen. He and his men died on the way home just eleven miles from food supplies.
Sand fell from his feet as he waded ashore The water so cold his teeth still chattered But he’d swum to the buoy as he promised he would And when she kissed his cold lips nothing else mattered. They walked, arms entwined the length of the beach All alone still, as dawn had not yet even broken Their love kept them warm and they both held a smile And down the length of the beach not many words were spoken. And in the small private cove at the farthest point along They abandoned all pretence of calm cool fashion Literally leaping into each other’s waiting arms They made love on the beach and unleashed their passion. O how they laugh when they think of that time And the fact that they nearly got caught But they still love each other as strong as they did And that sort of passion can never be bought.
Gently, very gently She held the child in her arms She was a mother, a protector And would shield her from all of life’s harms. Or at least that’s what the lady thought As she leaned down to coo and smile As she breathed her nicotine breath on her And passed germs to her baby so vile. The child at four got cancer At six she’s no longer here Yet the mother still smokes in her sorrow For those who won’t listen never hear.
And in my life there have been many doors —– so very many doors
Each of those through which I have passed —– has so utterly changed me.
Here I sit, some say a wiser man, yet sadder —– accursed life has felt the venom of an adder Tis just enough to hurt, yet not to kill —– and days proceed as if I’m in a drill.
And when the moonlight fades and dawns now beckons My dream-like state withdraws and you will leave So many, many ways this wretched human waste Will search his mind for other ways to grieve.
“…. But I have promises to keep,. And miles to go before I sleep, …” Robert Frost. a response to a challenge.
…and in that long ago, so happy was the time I sat with you and bade you listen to me well I said my love would be and fail you never And thus to you committed was I for ever.
…and through the years, happy times we’ve known Yet marred sometimes with sadness ere along Our love and that of those that we have loved Has kept us safe and made our backbones strong.
…but yet some things, they seem to overpower A loss so great I cannot yet understand But little ones I swore I’d help to raise As slowly life slipped from that tortured hand.
…and so I find now less important things Placed far behind that oath I made in grace For some things need to have ones focussed mind Like promises I made in that sad place.
…and ere along, though lovers still are we Our wretched lives more battered now by far And loss the like we couldn’t have conceived Will stay for ever now, an unhealed scar.
Jovis on a Journey... 