The Cord Of Gossamer
The gossamer cord it tightens,
As I try to move away.
Although I love you Eternally,
We can't live day by day.
I puzzled over this anomaly
Down the years that passed so full,
And asked myself, what can I do?
"Nothing" came reply, "just null."
But still I puzzled, beat my brow,
Felt I should do it all.
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poem by Rosi Caswell
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Calico Cat
I walk down the road
And what do I see?
A Calico cat is
looking at me.
I smile at the cat
So refreshingly free.
I sit down and wait
And he deigns to come see.
I ask why his name
Is the Calico Cat.
He rubs on my knee
And he says 'it's just that'
For the Calico Cat
Is not commonly seen.
Don't you know why we're so called?
Just where have you been?
I had to admit I never had heard
Why the Calico Cat was so named.
He flicked up his tail,
Said 'don't be ashamed,
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poem by Rosi Caswell
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We All Went To Dorset Steam Fair
We all went to Dorset steam fair
In the year 2001.
The 33rd year of this wonderful fair,
And we loved it all and one.
The atmosphere and the energy
The smell and the feel and the noise.
The feeling of oneness and synergy.
All of us felt it, ourselves and our boys.
Seven of us went to the steam fair,
To participate, laugh and play.
Many things we saw there,
Although we went just for the day.
The fair for all of our boys was the best.
Something for one and all.
A very important fact, (I don't jest) ,
For our boys ranged from tall to so small.
Army trucks and steamers.
Engines of all size and type.
Vintage cars sporting streamers,
And motorbikes there for the hype.
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poem by Rosi Caswell
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O'Hanlon's Gold
O' Hanlon is the name,
And smuggling was the game.
A little highway robbery,
To balance society's snobbery.
A highway man named edmond,
A twinkling eyed rough diamond,
Relieved the rich of excess
To help the poor to success,
With raising up their families,
To adulthood, not graveside trees.
The famine they survived it,
By sticking as a unit.
Some called them 'fightin' Irish',
With shillelagh, pipes and feistiness.
The Claddagh handshake signifies,
Their friendship, love; it verifies
That battles were fought yesterday,
O' Hanlon's name on lips today,
Does typify the Irish love,
And loyalty, travelling hand in glove,
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poem by Rosi Caswell
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The Canine Ham
There's a mighty storm raging overhead,
And my old dog she raises her head.
As I rush down the stairs in anticipation,
Of her fear and panic and trepidation.
I walk into the kitchen so calm and quiet,
Fully expecting her to raise a riot.
But she coolly turns and looks at me,
And I cannot believe what my own eyes see.
Instead of a dog trembling in fright,,
Against all past history she seems alright!
So I heave a sigh of quiet relief
And wend my way back upstairs to sleep.
But hark, I reach the top of the stairs,
And I hear a scrape, a moving of chairs.
Oh no! I think, she's scared after all
And I tumble downwards into the hall.
I tiptoe into the kitchen bright,
(where I'd felt compelled to leave a light.)
To find her sitting upon the side,
As if frantically seeking a place to hide.
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poem by Rosi Caswell
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Deserted Sidewalks
As I walk along the roads in dead of night,
I see nothing and no one, save deserted sidewalks,
Where people used to laugh and talk
And play and walk, in times of day.
But now in times of night where I walk alone,
Save with my loyal trusted companion,
Who asks nothing more than to be with me,
And to smell the scents, that abound at night.
Far different from the smells that abound in day.
The night is silent, save for the slight swish of our clothing,
And the faint tinkle of our jewellery,
And these sounds are borne along on the slight night breeze,
Peculiar only to this time, and this dimension.
This time is ours, a freedom borne of space,
And the silent parked cars, that tell the tale,
Of others not so far away, that slumber now,
As we awake, and come alive to run with Energies,
That only we can see and hear.
For when daylight comes around once more,
And all those weary travellers return again,
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poem by Rosi Caswell
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