Poetry Blogs (memories)

I sat all day in the corner

awaiting a call on the 'phone

but when it came through

the voice that I knew

was nowhere at all in the room

The nurse that called me much later

knew where I was travelling to

but she never heard

the call of the bird

that flew in my traveller's dream

The doctor gave me some drugs

to keep the malaria down

but the pills that I ...

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My father and mother in front, us boys behind.
It was the most wonderfully frightening experience for us back then.
When asked it was always the way we wanted to go.
Not the usual way down the brightly lit carriageway, but 
through the village then, a turn to the right
down the 'ghosty' way on our way back home.

Dimming the car lights
The horror show could begin.
The white blanketed road...

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{Holding Your Tiny Hands}{Cody} 

My dearest son,

I remember when you was born at 12:30 p.m. December 17 

And then the doctor's laid you on my chest and as I wrapped you up in my arms and kissing your small tiny hands and face as the happy tears flowed down my cheeks 

And then I started to count your small fingers and toes making sure all of them was there 

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When I have gone

what waits this room

with its vacuum

                where I sat?

Does

my chair sits sightless

musing at my absence

midst space bereft

                   my music play on?

After I have left

ask my empty bed

all sheeted void

                about my dreams

Does

my mattress dent

minding my long night wraiths

maintain my ...

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Standing outside her house
staring at the water-starved fuchsia 
on her dusty window sill
still clinging onto life with blood-coloured blooms

Until a few weeks ago
she lived here
surrounded by her few possessions
haunted by the memories
of her children
who no longer inhabit this earth.

Her body is frail
and she can no longer live here
My sadness as I look upon her life
is compou...

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Wandering through the sunlit trees

on grassy bluebell banks, brackened

by the unfurling of softly sensual shoots;

strolling in the tide turn rippling sea

as toes sift soft sea sand, silted

and lost to the advancing wave weft;

striding across bare barren felltop

on sheep shorn Spring sprung sod, surrounded 

by haze horizoned hills and hills and hills;

standing by the quie...

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There were those moments

pressed

against a Cornish rock

                in beach blackness

                with the shush of the rippling waves

                nearby in the night

lying

in a Sussex garden

                with the hot sun

                dappling our backs

parked

on a Ditchling hill

                with town lights

                spread below

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As I pass beyond my summer wall

Once more the land embraces my spirit

And its silence becomes my prayer

While I and heaven hear

The wind whispered psalm

As dusk caresses the tree tops

That surround my field fane -

I walk slowly through its grassy nave

Lost in my old memories

And pause at the far gate:

The sun sinks low behind me

And my long shadow stretches out in ...

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here i stand, here i stay...

in the midst of memories

that wont seem to go away..

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Back To The Park

It’s mid July,

a summer’s day.

School is just

a memory away.

We lay on grass

and watch the sky

and count the clouds

as they pass by.

We talk of bands

we’d like to see -

Led Zeppelin, Quo,

Sabbath and Free.

Insects buzz,

a distant bark,

children playing

In the park.

You turn to me

and kiss my lips

and move in close,

h...

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Scraping the bottom of the barrel  

I found fragments of a past life 

Remained forgotten for long years 

Cast along the wayside  

Of memory's lane. 

Branches of a time displaced. 

Misplaced and left to fade away 

Vague memories of my past 

Or of a past that is now detached 

From my spirit. 

Did I really live that life? 

Or are these souvenirs from a past not m...

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from an idea by Conrad Aiken

The Lounge

Netted windows with fawn roller blinds

lowered a little by their macramé tassels for his forty winks

Shush! Be quiet, he's having his nap, don't make a din -

or completely, when at night

he shovelled the last coal from the bin

concealed in its wooden cabinet

and lowered the heavy lid on the fire to keep it in

The Playroom

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They look at me like I'm the problem
and the cause of their boredom
and who knows
maybe in some ways I am.
I was a teenager once
bemoaning the lack of activities to get involved in
because opportunities were slim
and money was always tight
we had no Internet
to check through what's on listings
or you tube videos to learn new skills

I remember a lack of positive role models
which...

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This old farm cottage of mine

keeps all my years safe

for it knows my secret ways

and remembers

There are shadows in the shadows

but in some rooms

my sons have hidden smiles

to lead me in

There is more solitude indoors

but here and there

she has retained a past caress

to warm me

The old mirror we found at market

still retains her ghost

which...

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This rumination came from growing awareness of my mortality which, in turn, is generated and measured by the expanding list of things once given or assumed that, alas, are no longer possible.

The Mirror

How shall I talk to you, my friend?

How should I regard you

(and will I care)

as you grow ever older before my gaze

while I stay young?

Who are you? Dare I look on yo...

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Yesterday i was given the news my often eccentric, but also very old grandfather on my dad's side has gone to hospital. sketchy details, sounds like a stroke by the sound of it. around 1997 i started to see my grandfather after the passing of my dad. he was always a fun and amusing person to listen to, as he was from Kingston Jamaica, so i was never far from a "Raasclart" been mentioned. We later ...

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