January 7, 2014

 

 

No actual visible evidence.

Just a feeling that constantly gnaws,

and lets one know instinctively,

their attackers have got out their claws.

 

 

 

 

The great temptation to remain in the past

had finally hit home, with alacrity at last.

What’s done is done; self indulgence for the vain.

Feeling sorry is no good; it’s too late to explain.

 

So the need to function sent me on my way,

in search of what? I didn’t know that day.

But in looking back, in an attempt to be free,

I discovered that I couldn’t escape from me.

 

The realisation that therein, did the problem lie,

resolutely proving to be, my only alibi.

I couldn’t move on until the past I’d put to bed,

by compartmentalising it forever, in my head.

 

 

 

 

 

….. and always

having at hand

a ‘to do’ list.

Every moment

controlling

a shaking wrist.

 

 

 

January 4, 2014

 

 

Upstairs, just along the corridor,

and second door on the right,

is a room no one is allowed to enter,

and has never seen any daylight.

 

Although there is a sash window,

and nets hang, more grey now than white,

it is blocked out by internal oak shutters,

padlocked, and causing a shivery fright.

 

From the ceiling flow sheets of spiders webs,

which have connected themselves to each wall,

in a decorative pattern, somewhat sinister,

seen through the crack in the door, from the hall.

 

A once palatial mahogany chase long,

resides under the window sill,

still covered in threadbare green velvet;

an heirloom from old Sanctus Mill.

 

A foreboding black, cast iron fireplace,

is the focal point of the room.

Two mortified mice lie in the grate,

completing this picture of gloom.

 

The door nevertheless intriguing;

through the crack, we’ve spied by torchlight

since children, along with visiting cousins,

and school friends, who stayed overnight.

 

What happened in here remains a mystery,

as no-one, courage, has managed to pluck,

and enter the room, just in case doing so,

brings them, a lifetime of unwanted bad luck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two lonely, only children,

each in their bedrooms, unable to sleep.

Both standing at their windows,

opposite each other, a vigil to keep.

 

Each night around eight thirty,

these two young faces appeared,

taking comfort in each other,

from a world of isolation they feared.

 

First one would give a gentle wave,

from his side of the back street,

followed by a wave from her,

standing on oilcloth in her bare feet.

 

Their expressions not distinguishable,

only outlined silhouette shapes,

could be recognised by moonlight,

from inside their hanging drapes.

 

This became a nightly ritual,

each shivering in dressing gowns,

until, when comforted by visual contact,

they retreated under their eiderdowns.

 

 

 

January 2, 2014

 

 

…and in that instant,

 still feeling bereft,

 I knew from my side,

 you had never left.

 

 

 

 

 

The tension of waiting,

with much anticipation,

as wild thrills run amok

through our veins.

 

The mention of skating

on thin ice, so elating.

Never a remedy to cure

aches and pains.

 

The pension inflating,

not a penny we’re creating.

If truth be known, there’s

more losses than gains.

 

The attention dilating,

and fewer visitations.

Dreams of yesterday,

bound now in chains.

 

 

 

 

How normal tomorrow will feel,

when we are back together as a team.

And all that we took for granted,

has been tested to the extreme.

 

How close once again we will be,

even closer, than ever before.

And should anyone dare come between us,

for certain, they’ll be shown the door.

 

How grateful for tomorrow’s promised ride.

A day, we wondered if we’d ever see?

Now with hindsight and luck on our side,

we can go forward, so happily carefree.

 

 

 

 

 

Stand back and address the issues here,

and take yourself out of the equation.

And is there still a problem now?

I think not, on this occasion.

 

 

 

 

The blinding winter sun,

sits lowly in the skies.

No good to man or beast,

and not in line to win a prize?

 

The warming springtime sun,

brings new life, a cold spell denies.

Each bud a cherished radiance,

that overnight, grew by surprise.

 

The scorching summer sun,

causing squinting of the eyes.

A constant danger to us all,

unless caution, we exercise.

 

The grandest autumn sun,

that perfectly situated lies.

And watches like a godfather,

as leaves say their last goodbyes.

 

 

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