September 24, 2014

 

 

Bright colours shine and dance like fire,

awakening dormant, past desire.

 

In duplicate, a wide division;

a trick that comes with double vision.

 

Yet heartache hidden, too cold to melt

a frozen block, that God’s hand dealt.

 

And all the weepers and the wailers,

stand by the dock, waving to their sailors,

 

Some may return, but no guarantee;

a fickle ruler, is that tempestuous sea.

 

No favouritism, no chosen one,

can escape their fate, from this day on.

 

So with saddened hearts they turn away,

as tears like rainfall force their way,

 

from welled up eyes, that almost say

‘Please bring my loved one, back someday’.

 

And in agony they homeward flock,

to sit-out the wait, for the dreaded knock,

 

at the door, by he, officially sent to say,

‘Forgive the news that I bring today.’

 

Though they pray each night on bended knee,

a homecoming re-union, there may never be.

 

And bright colours shine and dance like fire,

awakening dormant, past desire.

 

In duplicate, a wide division;

a trick that comes with double vision.

 

And heartache hidden, too cold to melt

the frozen block, that God’s hand dealt.

 

 

 

 

 

August 28, 2014

 

 

Oh, today was as good

as any day I recall.

I watched a caterpillar

moving, at a steady crawl.

 

I heard the bees humming,

busy at their work.

Not away from duty

did one of them shirk.

 

Oh, today was as good

as any day gone by.

I walked indoors

to the aroma, of apple pie.

 

I saw a table laid out,

with just two place settings,

and a candlelight glow,

against the window nettings.

 

Oh, today was as good

as any day I remember;

with autumn so close,

we are nearing September.

 

So quiet the streets,

free from the day trippers.

And the dog saying ‘not yet’,

as I moved towards my slippers!

 

 

August 18, 2014

 

 

And now the time

is coming near,

I dread the loss,

holding back a tear.

 

I now realise

my only fear,

is being alone

without you here.

 

But life goes on,

and you must grow,

and follow your dream,

and wild oats sow.

 

And greet the world,

you’ve yet to know,

where lesser men

have dared not go.

 

So leave me child;

You have my blessing.

My broken heart,

I am caressing.

 

Uplift your spirit.

Explore your mind.

Knowing you are loved,

by those left behind.

 

And never look back

with a pang of guilt,

when deeply engrossed

in castles you’ve built.

 

Just spend your time

doing as you please;

My sorrow, in time,

I know will ease.

 

And this transition time,

that had to be faced,

will be good for us both,

with new ideas embraced.

 

As we both discover,

that the power of love,

is an invisible bond,

on the wings of a dove.

 

And knowing we have

each others full backing,

will make up for any

tactile feeling, lacking.

 

And with chains now broken,

you are free to fly.

And with my blessing,

reach for the sky. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 7, 2014

 

 

 

If only she could

see me now;

the one who pushed

me up yon brow.

 

Who I suckled free,

when mealtimes due,

from mother nature’s

potent brew.

 

Who gave me hope

through word and song,

and always taught me,

right from wrong.

 

Who saw in me,

my greatest strength,

and urging, went to

any length,

 

in her role of

unconditional support,

never backing away,

from a hasty retort,

 

that came, at times,

when sensitivity lacking;

she took it all, and still

gave full backing.

 

Though, alone in tears,

she would sit and wonder,

what had gone so wrong,

when she was cast asunder.

 

Yet, always returning

with both fists clinching;

accepting of her lot,

without ever flinching..

 

Through my ups and downs,

my lows and highs,

she loved me like no other,

without compromise.

 

And who, in later life,

whilst in sad decline,

still said ‘You’re round the bend,

sweet child of mine!’

 

And me, by then,

old enough to be a Gran!

Her words so insane,

if heard, by fellow man.

 

But she’d never leave me;

she made that clear,

that in death too,

she’d be always near.

 

And true to her word,

she’s never far away.

Her presence I feel,

at some part of each day.

 

The one who held

me to her breast,

and gave me life,

and knew me best,

 

may not be here

in human form,

but still keeps me calm,

and away from harm.

 

And tortured still am I,

to this very day,

for the times I kept

her love at bay.

 

in my quest for freedom;

my only goal.

Such impulsiveness,

beyond control,

 

which seems so futile now

I can please myself,

and my travelling boots

never on the shelf.

 

But it’s much easier now

to enjoy the view,

for where I choose to go,

she comes with me too.

 

And the one who pushed

me up yon brow,

forever on my shoulder,

for it’s my turn now,

 

to feel her warm embrace

and keep her memory near.

Until such time she feels

it’s time to disappear.

 

And when that time comes

I’ll know how she felt,

when I found her praying;

on her knees she knelt.

 

For she saw in me, herself,

as the pressure piled.

That’s how she knew too well,

her child, to be quite wild!

 

All too late, alas,

these things come to pass.

But closer now, than ever,

this mother and her lass.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

July 20, 2014

 

 

And in the building

of your dream,

even the purest water

from the stream

 

will never quench,

the thirst for perfection,

in their evolving world

of fast track rejection.

 

For to make the home

a fortress strong,

when freedom calls,

is isolation, to prolong,

 

and can catastrophic

ends, lead to,

when all that’s left

is just her and you.

 

And before you know it,

almost in front of your eyes,

that dream of perfection gone,

as you yearn to downsize!

 

For in role reversal,

they now build their own dream,

whilst you explore the world,

with the snowbird team!

 

 

 

 

 

A moment touched,

too hot to handle.

When the only light,

a fading candle.

 

The room so cold

icicles hung inside

the window, revealing

condensation’s pride.

 

Then the nightly horror

when darkness fell;

the creaking floor boards,

the haunting yell.

 

The closet door latch,

depressed, on it’s own.

The thunderous heartbeat,

of being left all alone.

 

The collapse of soot from

the chimney breast,

caused by a mummified fledgling,

blown from it’s place of rest.

 

The retreat under the blanket

to await his fate.

The long journey

to hell, to anticipate.

 

But hell never reached

for sleep surely came,

as each night before,

and ones that followed, the same.

 

Until he eventually moved out

when the house was condemned.

And gone forever, the nightmares,

he thought, would never end.

 

 

 

June 26, 2014

 

 

Today we played the guessing game,

of who was I, and who was he,

as we sat on a bench

drinking afternoon tea.

 

My name, you’d forgotten,

but with an easy smile,

you looked at me and said,

you’d known me a while!

 

You also readily acknowledged

that you did know he,

and knew him to be a part,

of your family tree.

 

We asked ‘who your father had married’,

and with your mind in full force,

you replied with astonishment;

‘why, my mother, of course!’

 

Your memory may be fading,

but your good humour, still there.

The smile on your face, priceless,

when a joke we all share.

 

Your husband, at your side,

you said, was that man,

but I’d thought him my husband,

when the day had began?

 

At least you knew we were yours,

and that was a plus.

There was still a connection;

at least you recognised us.

 

You then offered your hands

for each of us to hold;

 moments like that,

are worth more than gold.

 

We shared tangerine segments,

whilst still sat on the bench,

before saying ‘goodbye’,

which is always a wrench.

 

‘I’ll wave from the window’,

used to be your last line,

when life was so normal

and everything was fine.

 

We still wave through the window,

once you are back in your chair,

though we know you’ve forgotten,

that we were,        ever there!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

June 22, 2014

 

 

Joined at the hip;

that solid pair.

Where you saw one,

you saw the other there.

 

Both coming together;

their love to share.

Two halves of a whole;

that solid pair.

 

If one put on a coat,

the other ready to go,

come rain or hail,

or six feet of snow!

 

No other love

did each other know.

That solid pair,

off to the Barley Mow.

 

When one was asked a question,

the other would reply,

and one would then agree,

with an accepting sigh.

 

They spoke as one;

that solid pair.

For the main part,

he left it up to her!

 

But it suited him,

by the nose, to be led;

to let go of the reins

so he could clear his head.

 

For at work, he tired

of being the boss,

with all it’s complications,

he was often cross.

 

 And was content

when at the close of day,

a relaxing role

he was, allowed to play.

 

But therein lay

the unseen trap;

the hidden catalyst,

the yawning gap,

 

which gradually had

somehow evolved,

hence the situation,

could not be resolved.

 

So he lived by the rules

always set by her,

becoming the flexible part

of that solid pair.

 

And not an easy task,

with time, she found,

when the buck stopped with her,

on solid ground.

 

For no future respite

was there, in an easy chair;

An endless, lifetime’s job;

the boss, of a solid pair! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

June 15, 2014

 

 

In times of desperation

she would say ‘Oh help me, mother’.

And now we echo her words,

when we cannot turn to one another.

 

The line repeated many times,

when she couldn’t control her devils,

but all too late we realise,

she was right on many levels.

 

Then arrived the fateful day

when the angels of guidance came,

and laid her burdens to rest,

and softly called her name.

 

And the words, ‘Oh forgive us, mother’,

now forever, on our lips,

as we discover for ourselves,

life’s journey full of old guilt trips.

 

She was pressured to see her mother

almost each and every day,

never understanding the next generation,

who without choice, had to stay away!

 

This cyber world we live in

where cross contamination overlaps,

ensures we stay in touch,

without the need for old road maps.

 

And hugs and kisses, so essential,

in the days of mother dear,

seem to have now become redundant

in this robotic world of fear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The train that left from Meadow View,

set off with a choo, choo, choo.

For all onboard, excitement grew,

as the Station Master’s whistle blew.

 

Each mile of track, a promised view;

the train gathered speed, under skies of blue.

A whole week off work with nothing to do,

except chill out and live life anew.

 

With bags and suitcases at the ready,

and a walking stick to keep old Joe steady.

From the platform, you headed for the tram;

for the next few days, not giving a damn.

 

Come rain or shine, there was fun to be had.

No clocking on, or in overalls clad,

or hob nailed boots or iron soled clogs;

a rest from the graft of turning cogs.

 

So essential, a knotted hanky, for the chaps,

who’d never been seen without their flat caps.

And long trousers turned up, to the knee,

was the only way, on the beach, to be.

 

Sitting in a deck chair, with a tub of ice cream,

as children, in merriment, around you scream.

And just as you unwind from all the hassle,

your hand is pulled, to ‘built a sandcastle!

 

And you think to yourself  ‘work just never stops’,

as the wife and her sister, bugger off to the shops,

leaving you hard at it, but you do it with pride,

making sure it’s bigger, than the one by your side.

 

 And after a beer, down the deck chair you slide,

keeping an eye on the kids, now on a donkey ride.

and nodding off behind your newspaper you hide,

with the sun at full pelt and the sea at high tide.

 

Only to find they’ve all gone, and left you to fry,

without so much as a nudge or even a goodbye.

Tho’ they’ll all claim, to wake you, they couldn’t,

and drinking in the sun, you really shouldn’t!

 

So looking like a lobster, to safety you paddle,

to face their hysterics and feminine twaddle.

Avoiding smirks from folks on the promenade,

and blokes finding, not to laugh, very hard.

 

and all thinking, ‘Been there, got the plaque’,

‘and tonight you’ll be sleeping on your back’

‘and tomorrow you’ll feel like you want to die,

when the kids insist the big wheel, you try!

 

What excitement it is, a change from routine.

How the neighbours with envy, will turn green!

But how good it will feel to pack your cases

and go home to familiar people and places,

 

looking burnt to a cinder, and needing a rest,

before it begins again; the ‘cost of living’ stress,

that builds to explosion, when holidays are due,

but a blessing that work, you’ll be returning to.

 

So you wave a hand to the train at Meadow View,

as it sets off again with a choo, choo, choo.

‘What a lovely time’ you’ll say, was had by all,

as you clock in to work, and yourself, re-install.

 

 

 

 

 

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