Seize the day, new worlds await you, beckoning with outstretched hands.

Seize the day, lest some berate you, troubled by your new found lands.   

Seize the day & grasp it tightly, let not treasures spoil & fade.

Seize the day for it shines brightly, perilous paths, all fears allayed.

Carpe Diem spake the Romans, Latin was their native tongue.

Carpe Diem, goodly omens vested in the searching young.

Carpe Diem for tomorrow, melding sights & thoughts & sounds.

Carpe Diem, farewell sorrow, twinkling star-like, love abounds.


The Autumn Equinox has gone,

Greens & reds & browns & fawn

Leaf-woven carpets strew the ground,

A transformation so profound.

Longer nights & shorter days

Affect our lives in subtle ways.

“Mists of mellow fruitfulness”

As harvest time our tables bless.

Birds fly south on beating wing,

Returning home once more to sing

To other ears, their songs familiar,

Sung so true & sounding clearer?

Shall we survive the closing year

Apparently so bleak, so drear?

With ‘winter weeds’ in cupboards waiting,

Summer’s warmth is fast abating.

Stock the larder, cook the fruit,

For hunger doth our form transmute

And once transmuted, what are we?

Enveloped by a reverie

Of darkened dreams, of cold & shadow,

Spoiléd grain not fit to winnow.

Wind-blown we are nought but chaff,

The stuff of ‘when’, an epitaph,

But think no thoughts that hint of ending,

Seasons’ cycles ever wending,

Draw us from an impotence

Imposed by cold’s indifference.

‘Lead us forward, kindly light’,

Lest we remain embalmed by night.


‘They’ said it wouldn’t rain, but it did.

‘They’ said I’d feel no pain, but I did.

‘They’ showed me right from wrong as a kid.

‘They’ punished when I failed as I was bid.

‘They’ promised me so much, delivered none.

‘They’ left me all alone when I was one.

‘They’ called it “showing off”, but it was fun.

‘They’ gathered round & laughed when I was done.

‘They’ told me he would live, but then he died.

‘They’ told me to be brave, but then I cried.

‘They’ said he felt no pain, but they had lied.

‘They’ said that time would heal, I’m dead inside.

‘They’ offered words of comfort from the heart.

‘They’ wrapped their arms around me from the start.

‘They’ dried my tears lest I should fall apart.

‘They’ walked an extra mile, time to depart.


How be Ye, this cold & frosty morn?

How be Ye? Time has passed since thee was born.

How be Ye, my trusted, dearest Friend?

How be Ye? When ‘End’ doth mean: ‘The end’.

How be Ye? When the laughter turns to tears.

How be Ye? When days are left & no more years.

How be Ye? As the sun begins to set.

How be Ye? Must remember, can’t forget.

How be Ye? As the vigil takes it’s toll,

How be Ye? Sick at heart, bereft of soul?

How be Ye? As the darkness gathers in.

How be Ye? A fight that’s lost, not one to win.

How be Ye? When the time to go arrives.

How be Ye? ‘Twill be our Love that us survives.


January days, January greys, long to feel the warmth of the sun.

As each day goes past, a little longer than the last,

The winter blues will soon be on the run.

January cold, January bold, standing at the head of the year.

For some a fearful time, closéd windows etched with rime,

Ashen faces bear a frozen tear.

January stays, January’s ways are fickle, challenge all to raise a smile.

But February’s here, means that Springtime’s joy is near.

And January’s gone it’s yearly while.


Make the right waves to wash the right pebbles,

Wash the right pebbles to make the right beach,

Make the right beach and create a new shoreline,

Walk the new shoreline and search for a tree.

Climb the right tree to the top-topmost branches.

From the right branch take in all you can see.

Savour the vista, is all as it should be?

Do the right waves still wash the right pebbles?

Are the right pebbles becoming more sand-like?

Becoming more sand-like, to make the right beach,

and does the right beach resemble a shoreline,

a shoreline to walk on & find the right tree?

Did you climb to the top of the top-topmost branches

and find the right branch so to savour the vista?

Was all as it should be, was everything right?

Was everything right? Make right, make right.

Nigel Paul Paterson asserts his rights as the author of all poems published on this page. Copyright © 2018 Nigel Paul Paterson.

 Nigel Paterson Music. Est. 1980
Copyright © 1980-2019 Nigel Paul Paterson. All rights reserved.

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