Magic of Life
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About this ebook
Ever wondered if life and the human experience of it might be more magical than most people ever imagine? This is poetry for those who never lost their sense of childish wonder.
A collection of poems that explore the nature of reality and man’s place within it, plus a few designed just to raise a giggle.
Jennifer Christie Temple
Jennifer Christie Temple grew up in rural Hertfordshire in the 1950’s. The daughter of a traditional woodcutter and forester, her childhood days were spend in woodlands, meadows and country lanes and she learned to love and respect nature and all life.Trained in biology, Jennifer found her work in science unfulfilling and soon turned her attention to writing. She became a successful freelance writer, working for magazines and newspapers across the UK and Ireland. For several years, she wrote a humorous column about city life for The Daily News in Birmingham, where she lived for 25 years.Moving to a village on the border between England and Wales, she now lives in retirement with her husband and a small group of chickens and devotes her time to walking the surrounding hills, her grandchildren and writing poetry.
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Book preview
Magic of Life - Jennifer Christie Temple
I am more.
More than this body
anchored to the floor.
Sometimes, I soar.
I ask ‘Why?’
just open my mind
and though I don’t try,
sometimes, I fly.
I find it strange and comforting
to find answers waiting there.
As though expecting my asking,
solutions just seem to appear.
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Young Love
Young love, so delicate, so fine, entwines and binds
with twists of mist that curl like twine
around a girl and boy.
Ensnare and tear at hearts and mind,
until the only thought is feel,
the only moment, now.
Our middle years try to forget, deny
but yet it’s there, pushed back in mind
and not for newer loves to find.
While life is full and partners pull
the mind and heart to present day,
the first love hides away.
Young love devours the dreaming hours
of old men, as they wait to die
in ivory towers of lonely rooms.
Dependent on their inner eye,
they sip and slip, with sweet regret,
to thoughts of lips that linger yet.
Soft memories dance, entrance and pull
to thoughts of sweet young bosoms full
of life and love and clinging need
for chance to shed the urgent greed
of bodies sighing to contain
hot feelings playing life’s refrain.
The old man, with his outward calm
and even breath and dust-dry palms,
belies the storm of lusty thought
that holds him caught, like headlamps bright
can trap a rabbit in the night.
And who would grudge this sad