July 20, 2014

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

They thought it fun

to partake of wine;

to laugh and frolic

and intertwine,

 

in the summer months

of bright sunshine,

never knowing the art

of when to draw the line.

 

They also thought it cool

to ‘go man go’

and be out, half naked

in winter’s freezing snow,

 

but in their dotage,

sense, they came to know.

Tho’ still their hearts said yes,

their bodies said ‘oh no!’

 

 

 

 

 

 

July 1, 2014

 

 

You waved goodbye

and crossed the lane,

and waved again;

I felt your pain.

 

I found it hard

to close the door,

in case you waved

again once more.

 

And that you did;

I thought you might.

You waved at the corner,

and were gone from sight.

 

Your wave stayed with me,

for the rest of the day;

the heartache you suffered

clearly on display.

 

Oh the power of a wave,

when a wave is returned;

it brings a lump to the throat,

and leaves a tummy churned.

 

And what bond of friendship

is always there,

that starts off with a wave,

that says ‘I care’.

 

 

 

June 28, 2014

 

 

 

and now, for now, all exits blocked from view:

Yet forward goes the one who dared to look,

for maybe always lying in the subconscious,

was that something else, others had mistook,

 

to mean the opposite of what was apparent;

a fool indeed who thinks his friends are foes.

The end and yet another new beginning;

foundations laid, where plainly nothing shows.

 

And all the time when searching, never ending;

when finally one settles in deep repose.

It’s then, relaxed and accepting of the future,

one sees that life, with joy,  just overflows.

 

And tomorrow’s dreams are merely crutches,

to aid the walk ahead, too steep to bear.

And that the facts already laid before them,

were obvious, to one who dared to stare.

 

 

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 23, 2014

 

 

Quite in a neutral

kind of way,

I met a horse

who was a Bay.

 

We shared the love

of solitude.

For his age, I thought him,

one cool dude.

 

His life so interesting,

it did turn out;

he’d seen the limelight,

without doubt!

 

Yet so much unsaid

through protocol,

which would have

involved Interpol,

 

had he spilled the beans

and broken the trust,

bestowed upon him

by duty’s thrust,

 

when he entered a life

not many Bay’s see;

the fact he had class

was obvious to me!

 

When I said I’d enjoyed

‘The trooping of the colour’,

his eyes glazed over,

his expression became duller.

 

I had hit a nerve;

a sensitive spot.

He knew I’d sussed out,

a life, he hadn’t forgot.

 

I patted his back and

stroked a tear from his face;

that moment of poignancy,

he held with grace.

 

And of a bond between us

we became aware;

from that day to this,

a friendship rare,

 

developed by such

an unlikely pair,

who in each other confide,

without any words 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! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In that split second

that you were gone,

with no more the strength

to carry on,

 

stood broken hearts

around your bed,

as tributes came flooding

and were read,

 

from well meaning friends,

both new and old;

each one with praise,

a story told.

 

And so with dignity,

you moved on,

to a better place

where bright sun shone.

 

A heart stopped beating

that had changed our world.

With arms together,

in grief we curled.

 

The moment raw,

the pain so strong.

To lose one so trusted

seemed so wrong.

 

A colossus tower,

a fine example too,

of how to live with dignity

and an open view.

 

So many traits

of goodness found.

Such praise indeed

from all around.

 

And now, what now

will the future bring?

As recovery slow

from heartache’s sting.

 

Each hour, each day

comes with a sigh.

And all that’s left

after your goodbye,

 

are lingering memories

of one of our own;

so unique, so loved,

always setting the tone.

 

So until we meet again

across the great divide,

in our hearts and minds

you will reside.

 

And all you encompassed

with a sense of worth,

we’ll try to carry on,

for you, here on earth.

 

And when we think of you,

and the times held dear,

on our faces, a smile,

will belie a tear.

 

And not half as scary

is death’s open door,

knowing we’ll be re-united.

with you, once more.

 

 

 

 

 

June 18, 2014

 

 

A life lived out on centre stage,

where exposed nerves in anger rage.

He who stoops to conquer shall be slain;

what agony, the hellish pain.

 

The lack of trust so evident;

a life snuffed out, a sad lament.

The procrastinators now deceased;

the final scene, the applause increased.

 

The raucous cheers, the standing ovation,

the dying seconds, the jubilation.

A life lived out on centre stage;

originality expressed for a paupers wage.

 

The war-paint removed, the Dressers all gone.

Once more, as ever, it’s back to one.

The sound of triumph, no bills will pay.

The cold emptiness, at close of play!

 

 

 

 

 

Here they come;

the usual suspects;

reliable to the end.

 

The first in the queue,

the rubber-neckers

who’s eyes on stalks, extend.

 

‘Could you please sign here,

for my collection,

then I’ll be on my way,

 

and if you’d sign thirty more

for my charity,

it would really make my day.

 

and if you’ve time

could I possibly beg of you,

on my buttocks, sign your name,

 

then I can take a selfie

to pop in my album,

so you can be, my claim to fame.

 

And if I can delay you further,

now it has started to rain,

would you say hello to my brother

 

who is your biggest fan ever,

along with my closest aunt

and my long departed mother!

 

Your time is at a premium,

and I know there’s others

waiting in the queue,

 

but this is the only chance

that I may ever get,

to have a quick word with you!

 

 

 

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