Here is some of Bob’s poetry for possible inspiration. [ Naturally it’s all copyright but anyone is welcome to circulate it free of charge and also publish it in magazines, at no charge. Condition for all that is that it’s attributed to Bob Beresford and you notify us, eg by email (at bobberesford.com) that you will be publishing it. See ‘Contact‘ on this site. ] [ Using the poetry in any books would have to be discussed with us first, but we’re likely be flexible and accommodating about that. ] At some point an actual book of Bob’s poetry will be published. AFTER THE EARTHQUAKE - Christchurch - February 2011 © Bob Beresford Speak to the wind and there's no one to hear It has taken us now with no promise to hold to , Taken the streets with no place we can come to . Holding the moments we thought we could cling to - The earth shook the core of our lives . Stand in the light in this bright desolation Wind takes the sand and the sky fades to dust We are lost in the light of a day disappearing Washed by the breeze and the sounds we are hearing Caught in the light of a Westerly evening - And soon in the cool of the night . Feel the wind take you and everything's clear There's nothing to promise - but little to fear In a city so damaged by forces unknown We have dwelt in our comforts and held to our homes But certainty torn in a deafening moment Has left us alive in a day - then a sunset . Light in the air - and the quiet - and the motion As all you see melts into stark desolation Here in the wind and the dust we are breathing - Life begins over again . Part 2 - Reaching to sea over plains and the ranges Gales sway the trees and they howl through the ruins Where Christchurch lies barren beneath the long clouds That colour the ends of our skies We are here in a day that we never saw coming Caught in the shock waves - changing our lives We are here at the mercy of forces beyond us And moments that touched us - or captured us running Still in the quietness of all that surrounds us Still in the ruins that fell all around us We are still in this city - we hope - in this moment - Tomorrow will find us again END OF THE ROAD © Bob Beresford Lay your load down at the end of the road When a nightime horizon encircles eternity Here among rocks where the grasses have broken Is peace for a wayfarer – caught in a picture Beyond your last steps see a track heading nowhere Find a trail winding up into the hills Surrounding a moment submerged in soft breezes Night air is warm where the spirit is blown I came in a night to the end of a road Awoken from slumber – and now I am seeing Clear sky in pale light, turning leaves silver As bound to soft stone I am drawn towards sleeping ALWAYS © Bob Beresford Have you caught me reaching? I reach always – I have reached forever When you are here around me When you are all I see When everything is fulfilled through you I reach to you – for completeness Always SYRIAN SCENE © Bob Beresford The air in this country is heavy with water Across the vast spaces a moist winter atmosphere Settles itself in a mild drift of wind As pleasant to breath as a distance to view A long way away, from the low fertile plain In stark isolation some hills rising gently Have merged with the cloud that has covered this region Where dull moving air pervades all of our senses A city that’s built out of colourless stone Into flat-topped houses with roofs you could live on While resting for centuries through all the changes Is moving in time with the course of the day Man on the land with a life-giving river Still wandering gently into the small towns Through glowing red soil and around the low ranges Where peaks are concealed in the colourless cloud Syrian scene is a time for quiet breathing And sitting up high looking over a town With its temples and water-wheels turning as ever Through a day nearly over and rain coming down SONG FOR THE EVENING © Bob Beresford I thought I would write you a song for the evening The words are here now and the music is ringing I hear the sounds down in the streets where they're floating That make up a night in the place where we're meeting Life stumbles on in a line of strange words That are mixed in confusion and now have no meaning But sometimes a whisper will break through the noises And often the thought is a song in the making I would write you a song but the feeling is gone While the words are now only the things I am seeing But colours remain in the light that has changed And the patterns are moving in ways that are pleasing NIGHT ON A BEACH © Bob Beresford Sounds in darkness - spinning around the centre of our lives Out to the horizons - -so many points of glittering light A travelling pattern has turned in the air Alternate flashes of white and vermillion Another as well disappearing The balanced completeness of our lives Young ones playing The steady roar and the breeze embalm us Wave upon wave drawn into our vision Lovers together - others apart Treading courses in the sand Still remaining At peace with ourselves we harmonize energy Surging around us, Now so familiar Hearts singing - - We are alone and together A sweeping presence - -we balance the forces emanating from the distance - waves of water and sound Depths beyond us come to our presence Mysteries remain - Man is complete LOST WORDS © Bob Beresford. Possibly written in Jerusalem I held the lost words in a time long forgotten That lingers round time when a flash of new colour Has broken through all the old lines of a picture Surrounding my sight in a stream of unconsciousness Night takes a day like a thief in the darkness When city lights sing through an evening of noises That echo round time in a chain of strange spaces Where lost words are hovering between the changes A moment is gone like a long-buried treasure Where sea-winds have blown waves of sand across ages And feelings like places now covered by dunes Lie outside a consciousness dulled by times ravages. SYDNEY HARBOUR AT NIGHT © Bob Beresford I could walk here endlessly But this is not my home Water reaching to land Monumental bridge to a farther shore - It takes me nowhere Structure of shells in gigantic proportions Lit up - alive - and teeming with people Never again - this shall not be mine The lights and colours of a Saturday evening Strong in it's presence - I drift through this scene Massive stone images rising before Banners - standards - and scaffolds in the air Overhead passages leading away And out to the harbour the lights shining still Succession of flags with a breeze flowing through them Poles wave - lights glow - traffic moves through Standing statues with lights and names Rise way beyond us - surrounding this place Harbour at night with vessels in motion Moon shines as ever through the clearness of space Trees sway in rhythm - their leaves flutter madly Wind inspires everything - following ways Through the gaps and the spaces of all this existence Endless forevers - divided by days ICE CANYONS © Bob Beresford - written in London Dreams in our minds have eroded to nothing As nothing is all we have lived for Colourful lies have enveloped our lives As always we choose to believe them I have seen through the lies when they're broken by laughter Like pictures dissolving in torrents of water I saved my last hope for a day breaking after But woke in the light of the moon. Night has now found us escaping through streets Here where the walls tower around Like a cold canyon which funnels the wind Here is the ice that surrounds Now as I'm lost in the sights that I'm seeing In cities of stone where the spirit is freezing And lies have no colour as dreams have no meaning I wait for a chance to be found. SCENE IN NEPAL © Bob Beresford Mountain refuge is drawing near Where valleys are cut by these torrents of water Ridges of purple which closer are green Come down without falling to paths here below. Pictures of farmyards have been close around They're part of a day in the lives of the people Who live out the seasons upon a steep hillside Or cling to some level ground here in a vale. Passing through life on the way to a village People forever with loads on their backs Or mules tread the paths in a noisy procession Where buffaloes lazily feed on some grass. Up through a pattern that's woven by ridges Clouds caress faces of sheer frozen stone And cover some places where ice will be forming While snow-drifts are burning the last of the day. Light on a peak is now shattered by crystals That spray the sun down in a glow of vermillion And faces of gold which were vibrant and clear Have lost the last promise that daylight could bring Mountain now rising from shrouds of mauve-grey That weave throughout space round the towering masses Is stiller than evening when air is descending And last breath of wind is absorbed by the night. Still in the coldness surrounded with clarity Pure white outline before a deep blue The picture is fading into a dark evening While down here a night starts with nothing in view White streaks remaining upon a grey monument - All that is left with the light disappearing As now in the darkness some fireflies are glowing And stars form a pattern upon the night's ceiling. SCENE IN NEPAL - THE NEXT DAY © Bob Beresford Morning came slowly into the cold valley Here where we slept while the air began moving Around the quiet hillsides and into our consciousness Rising from rest in the warmth of our beds. Many rock fences that mark out the boundaries Lead on to houses with thatch or stone roofs And plants that we eat from are growing profusely Bordered by young trees that drift with the wind. Soft early breezes that fill this enclosure Are clear as the sky which surrounds all our feelings Reaching through space to a star-lit mountain Where rays of this morning reflect from the edges. Sharp glowing outline is ringing with sunlight Blinding gold texture vibrating in snow-drifts Resting on ridges of motionless stone Fractured by crevasses lined with dark shadow. Glacial bowl has been capturing whiteness Draining the moisture that came with a season Now falling downward toward lower slopes Where life takes a foothold among broken stone. Higher the peak holds the message of morning Clearly the snow shows a pure new light Later revealing the sides of the valley And warming the air which was held by the night. DEEP WINTER © Bob Beresford , written in London I'd like to take hours from a day going nowhere And rest in the sunlight - ignoring chill breezes So just for a while there's a time that means nothing As days that mean nothing will lead us to Spring Remember moist winds that can penetrate everything Sucking all warmth from the blood near your skin And whatever you do is surrounded by coldness As no inspiration remains in a scene Winter has trapped us in a pool of ice water That's now turning solid as eyes are still swimming And senses are slowing through currents of liquid So heavily sinking and gripping our feelings Thank a bleak sky for a few hours of sunlight And soak up some warmth while away from the wind In a city that's lost all its heat to the heavens We'll wait for the sun to be near us again. ODE IN A CITY sonnet © Bob Beresford , written in Christchurch Open the door and the wind will rush in Feel what you missed in the tired city heat Moments reveal all we gain and we win In the stark rooms where we live and we meet Threading our lives through this passage of days Treading the ways that are leading us on Till in an evening we sit and we gaze Lost in a landscape of warm golden stone Forms of a city now shaped by desire Those who endured made a world that we feel Bathed in this colour the streets are on fire Last light of day burning stone and the steel So we have come to an ending we know Blown by the wind as we come and we go NO TURNING BACK © Bob Beresford You said there was no turning back So you lift your feet higher and lightly you stepped On with the breeze of an early spring day Swirling dust clouding the edge of the way Your body moved on to an impulse you knew The rhythm you felt in the road So it’s all you could see and it’s all you can want Waves of hills leading the passage of men Wayfaring souls who have wandered and then Found in a place and a moment they held to Time started over again Were you taken aback at the power of this place? Taken so far to be here and be found Caught at the turn in a season of change Lost in the hills and the towering range You tread your way softly – and torn by the wind Your life begins over again THROUGH - INTO NIGHT (ON THE SHORE) © Bob Beresford Moments are with us – and moments are gone A breeze broke the waters – and murmured through silence Now we are waiting – and now we are watching Wind on the waters – and light in the sky Here in a sunset – waves are returning Tides they are ebbing and carrying sands On into twilight the waters are flowing Colours cascade and they come and they go Warm air is lifting the scents of the shore Enveloping senses with salt and with life Weeds that are rotting and those that are growing Running the tide like the edge of a knife Seabirds are calling and waters are lapping Tides draw the memories – till a new dawn Colours will lead us and nights will surround us Wind takes the moment – and here we are born ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE © Bob Beresford All the worlds a stage, And all the men and women merely stage-hands: They have their broomsticks and their spotlights And each man in his life works many hours. SHALL I COMPARE THEE TO A WINTER’S STORM? (Inspired by the Elizabethan lecher Will Shakepeare) © Bob Beresford Shall I compare thee to a winter's storm? Thou art far colder than the northern gale: As thou, his blush hath never blown me warm, And scarcely do'st thou lift thy icy veil: Sometime unto a coarse and frigid stone, Lay'st quiet at rest upon thy velvet couch; Before thy gaze ‘twere sweet to be alone, Thy pale complexion numb beneath my touch; But my eternal credit shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that cash I ow'st; Nor courts shall claim I wander in the red, When in hard times my resources are low'st: So long as thou do'st lend, or give to me, So long lives love, and I'll bring love to thee. FOR A’ THAT ( Inspired by Robbie Burns and dedicated to the Scottish National Party. Written in Olde Pseudo Scottish. ) © Bob Beresford Is there for honest puberty, That’s hung sae well, an’ a’ that? Tho’ clothes be rags for monie a day, His back is gude for a’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that, He’s strong an’ true an’ a’ that, The tartans but the Highland stamp, The man’s the gowd for a’ that. What though on porridge e’er we dine, An’ haggis red, an’ a’ that, Gie fools their feasts, and knaves their wine, We’ve oats an’ rye for a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that, Their bonnie robes, an’ a’ that When kilts are raised above the head, A man’s a man for a’ that! Ye ken yon Englishman, a lord, Wha struts an’ stares, an’ a’ that? Tho’ wealth has gat, he’s worth nae words The man’s a fool for a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that, His shining face, an’ a’ that, Tha’ man wha plays his bagpipes loud Is proud, an’ laughs at a’ that! A man can tae a Highland Fling Wi’ any lass, for a’ that, An’s gude if o’er her groans he sings, Or makes a poem an’ a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that, Gae to an’ fro, an’ a’ that, When barleys drunk, an’ sheets are warm, A lassie’s gude for a’ that. Then let us pray, that come the day: When men are free, an’ a’ that; Of heather’s birth, o’er a’ the earth, And thistles wee, an’ a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that, The days nae far for a’ that, When man for man, o’er a’ the lands, Shall Scotsmen be for a’ that! THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ECONOMY © Bob Beresford , written in Bethlehem (Inspired by Alfred Lord Byron’s – The Destruction of Sennacherib) The Americans came down like a wolf on the fold 'Cause they'd already mortgaged their silver and gold And their sunglasses glared like the stars on the sea As the cameras clicked nightly in deep Galilee Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green That host with their greenbacks and bankcards were seen Like the leaves of the forest when autumn has blown That host on the morrow was fleeced to the bone For the merchants of trinkets had ripped them off fast And plied them with souvenirs as they went past They had been charged for photos by kids who were smirking And robbed in the taxis whose meters “ weren’t working “ They were socked in the restaurants, charged double for rooms Paid money for churches and visiting ruins Bought overpriced postcards and lost their last cash To amateur beggars who spent it on hash And the housewives of Jaffa are wild in their glee 'Cause the tourists are floating the economy And the might of the dollar, unquestioned as yet Has serviced the interest on the national debt