1972 Meg poem

Invisible Houses

Invisible Houses (May 1972)

We carry, each, our house upon our back –
As does the snail – but it’s invisible,
More like an extra skin, an atmosphere,
Perhaps a fragrance. We are recognised
As much by it as by our face and form,
And every day we live we are building it.

Some build a house as fresh and welcoming
As is a summer garden; some a cell
Bare and ascetic as a hermit’s cave;
Others are locked in dungeons dark and foul
Fettered by care, their heavy chains self-made.

We carry, each, our house upon our back
And day by day we build it, brick by brick.

Meg Rugg-Easey May 1972

1972 Meg poem

My Mum Goes Out to Work

My Mum Goes Out to Work (April 1972)

I hate my nice new clothes; I’d rather wear
My old more comfy ones. I hate being told
Not to get dirty. I don’t want to watch
The telly every night. I had more fun
Before my Mum went out to work. I wish
She’d stay at home again, just to be there
To talk to and to touch. I’d like that more
Than all the clothes and tellies in the world.

Meg Rugg-Easey April 1972

1972 Meg poem

A Secret

A Secret (1972)

It really is a blessing –
Though of course it is a sin –
To be able to say one thing
But to think a different thing.

To say “I’m pleased to meet you”
(I dislike you all the same,)
Or “Must you really leave so soon?”
(And please don’t come again.)

When bored at social functions
It’s most comforting I find
Whilst being outwardly polite
To be rude in my mind.

So everyone, thank goodness, can
If they don’t let it show –
Think all the horrid thoughts they want
And no one else will know.

Meg Rugg-Easey Feb. 1972

1972 Meg poem


Versailles(Feb. 1972)

The Palace of Versailles is beautiful;
Its Hall of Mirrors marvellous, unique.
Beneath these decorated ceilings lived
Louis Quattorze and Louis Quinze, their wives
And all their court, magnificently dressed
But verminous.

   These formal gardens looked
In their day much the same; for them the trees
Glowed with their lovely autumn tint as now.
   Beneath the trees a group of children play
Dragging their feet through heaps of fallen leaves,
Throwing them up to fall in golden showers
Or piling them upon each others heads.

   When I am home again and shall recall
The splendours of Versailles, I’ll see again
Those children playing with the autumn leaves
And hear their laughter in the frosty air.

Meg Rugg-Easey Feb. 1972

1971 Meg poem

Ever Beside Us

Ever Beside Us (March 1971)

The greatest and the wisest men who lived
In other times and places ever stand,
Embodied in their works, beside us. Like
Great mountain peaks above the vales where men
Of lesser vision dwell. Patient they wait
Until we turn from cares of everyday
Which dull our senses and confine our thoughts,
Looking to them for inspiration. Then
They show us, from their heights and through their eyes,
The human panorama, and they share
Their deepest thoughts and highest ecstasies
Speaking from heart to heart as no man speaks
Even to his dearest friend. From them we gain
Courage and hope and wisdom, and we climb
With them above this blood-stained earth where acts
Of cruelty and violence shape men’s lives
Ad pity, truth and love are valueless
Except as shields keeping our souls alive.

Meg Rugg-Easey March 1971

1971 Dave Meg poem

For Dave

For Dave (Jan. 1971)

Lonely’s the house when you are gone,
Whoever else is here;
Silent the rooms waiting your voice;
Long are the hours and drear.

Restless and purposeless am I
Waiting for you – I’ve grown
Dependent on you through the years
And incomplete alone.

Reluctantly, when we were wed,
My freedom I forswore,
But gratefully I now enjoy
Interdependence more.

Meg Rugg-Easey Jan. 1971

1970 Meg poem


Grief (Dec. 1970)

You grieve that life should be unjust;
Some rich and others poor;
Some who are never ill and some
With ills we cannot cure;
That some must work from morn to night
With little rest or ease
While others do no work at all
Living just as they please.

Life is not just, for Nature has
No sense of justice, she
Rules only by cause and effect
Applied impartially.

Then grieve not if life is unkind;
Man can surmount his fate.
Grieve rather that, granted free will,
He chose not love but hate.

Meg Rugg-Easey Dec. 1970

1970 Meg poem

The Voyage

The Voyage (Oct. 1970)

When we are launched at birth, like little boats,
Upon life’s ocean, we are safe within
The harbour walls of home, and learn the skills
Of seamanship in sheltered waters; but
Anon and willy-nilly we must face
The storms and hazards of the open sea.

   It is a  lonely and a frightening voyage;
The boats so small and frail, the sea so strong;
So little help we get or we can give,
And so inadequate our power, it seems,
To contact those around us.

    If we steer
By the fixed stars then we shall keep on course,
But if, driven by storms, the stars obscured,
We drift with wind and current, we are lost.

   We see the older boats beside us dip
Lower and lower, battling with the waves
Until, despite our arms outstretched to help,
They sink to rest upon the ocean bed.

   And what the purpose of our voyage may be
We do not know, although we feel a sense
Of purpose in our lives, even at times
A unity with sea and sky and stars.

  But this we know – and this our guarantee
Of every individual’s worth – we know
Though countless millions sailed before our birth
And millions more will sail after we die,
Yet each one and each journey is unique.

Meg Rugg-Easey Oct. 1970

1970 Meg poem


Tomorrow (Sept. 1970)

If I should die tomorrow, as I might –
As might we all – what would I miss the most,
When taking leave of all I love, and what
Regret the most?

   I think I would not grieve
To leave my loves behind, for they are safe
Enfolded in my heart, fused with my mind;
If anything survives they will not die

   And what regrets? Only, I think, for my
Lost opportunities; failures of love
Of patience, sympathy or tenderness.

   Our lives are but on loan, and when ’tis time
To make repayment it’s only the end
Of one adventure and, maybe, the start
Of yet another. I’ll repay my loan,
When I needs must with resignation and
With gratitude, for I’ve enjoyed my life.

Meg Rugg-Easey Sept. 1970

1970 Meg poem

A Summer Day

A Summer Day (July 1970)

The little fields lie far below me spread
In patch-work squares of green and brown; the trees
Houses and roads so tiny, so remote
They might, it seems, be in another world.

And here I sit alone on the hillside
Beneath a cloudless sky, in the warm sun
Absorbing through all senses I possess
The sights, the sounds, the smells, the peacefulness,
The beauty of this sunny countryside.

And as I sit, by some strange alchemy,
I seem to grow akin to everything
Around me; the warm earth, the grass, the ferns,
The myriad insects, all are part of me
And I of them; together we are parts
Which blended make this perfect summer day
And fill it with delight.

   But all days end;
So when the light begins to fade, the air
Grows chilly, I’ll descend the winding path
And when I reach the valley I shall see
The fields, houses and trees just as they were
Before I left them; I’ll return to tread
The daily round, but with a lighter step.

Meg Rugg-Easey July 1970