March 10, 2014

 

 

It has previous life.

It’s memories linger.

We are merely custodians

with a different finger.

 

We modernise.

We update its look

with our own stamp,

but it can’t be mistook.

 

It still has heart

and ghosts of frost,

who come to visit;

their souls still lost.

 

They aggravate.

They come at will

around seven o clock;

they can’t keep still.

 

They let us know

we’re in their place,

moving as they did

in this hallowed space.

 

But on command,

silent they be.

I calm them down,

they don’t worry me.

 

No-one believes

that we have spirits.

Some think us mad

when we speak of visits.

 

But it’s their history

we must respect,

though all that it is,

is just circumspect.

 

 

 

 

 

A love so strong and powerful,

ingrained in every bone.

Ongoing strands of connection

so delicately hand sewn.

 

A moment so truly wonderful;

a feeling of never being alone.

When out of the blue comes one

deliciously setting the tone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mother always urging, and saying ‘Do it child’

Father so discouraging and saying ‘Don’t be wild’.

 

Mother saying ‘Go for it, and keep forward moving’.

Father shaking his head and always disapproving!

 

Mother’s nature copied, landed the child in a stew.

Father’s balanced scales, forced to go askew!

 

Mother right for Father; making him test the water.

Father right for Mother, but off ran only daughter!

 

Mother bereft trailed on, with more advice to give

Father tore his hair out; no longer wanting to live.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Your tears will fill a thousand oceans, if not dried.

For each sad day, a new tomorrow, have you cried!

 

You weep not for yourself, but for those who fear,

and whilst in your healing world, share every tear.

 

Your heart so broken with all that life has cost.

Still in readiness you wait, to help all souls so lost.

 

Soon, a thousand oceans, with tears will overspill,

by a heavy burden, gathered from the world at will.

 

 

 

 

Oh wind that makes the rain so fierce

like blades of steel, on a window pierce.

and hail so heavy, it hits like stones

on a forbidden love, that the heart condones.

 

Oh storm clouds brewing overhead;

the unspoken word now left unsaid,

and lightning flashes on a bed of emotion;

a thunderous price for such devotion.

 

 

 

 

She will beat my brow

and find comfort in saying

the repeated lines

that on her mind weighing.

 

She will tell a tale

of injustice and hurt

that sticks in her head

like a cloud of dirt.

 

She will plead assurance

that she wasn’t to blame,

but I find her excuses

are far too lame.

 

The harm so deep

it severed a nerve,

and away from the subject

I try to swerve.

 

But she won’t be swayed

and the long lament

must be repeated verbatim

and is set in cement.

 

 

 

 

February 28, 2014

 

 

They’ll give you all pasting,

and you’re bound for a thick ear,

for stupidly playing the clown

and bringing trouble here.

 

Tying together their door knockers

and then ringing their bell,

was such a mindless act,

during an idle half-term spell.

 

Old man Scholes is ailing,

and confined to his sick bed.

He’d think it was the doctor ringing:

Why didn’t you use your head?

 

And dear Mrs Stoney can’t walk,

without the aid of her stick.

You’ll be old yourself someday son,

I can’t believe you could do such a trick?

 

Your time needs occupying;

go and find some jumble to sell.

Just wait until your father finds out,

for sure, he will play merry hell.

 

 

 

 

I see sadness fall upon you

like a gossamer shroud.

I know to keep my distance

and not raise my voice too loud.

 

I let you have your moment

in the world that might have been.

Acknowledging all the trauma

of a future never seen.

 

I hang around in case you need me,

( and invariably, you do.)

until the sadness that surrounds you

melts away like morning dew.

 

The mood swings come without warning.

I guess it’s just natures way.

We all often feel their presence

at some point of the day.

 

It’s just knowing how to cope,

and which way to turn the key.

There isn’t any set pattern,

to the length of time, that sad you be.

 

 (Sadness can hit us all like a boulder,

when we hear a line from a song,

that takes us back to the time,

we have cherished all life long.)

 

No words are ever needed,

for eyes say, ‘I understand’,

and the offer is accepted,

of a welcome, outstretched hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A man being at his most vulnerable,

when boastful and filled with bravado,

fails to notice envious opposition

passing as friends, dining on avocado.

 

Meanwhile, his watchful, silent partner;

taking it in and not missing a trick,

has easily identified in a moment,

those who think him, thick as a brick.

 

 

 

 

She said to keep our chin up,

as there’s plenty as good as we,

but certainly none better;

and that ‘belief’ we had to see.

 

 

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