We had the best of it, he says, raising his glass,

As if in some salute to the past.

We meet on occasion, as old school friends do,

Remembering when we used to drink under-age.

Well past that stage now, our sense of

Boyhood bonhomie still tangible.


Our conversation is like leafing through a book

With chapters missing. How else to explain

What became of all that distance in between?

The years when his blonde hair turned white,

My Afro, salt and pepper grey.


Do you recall? He asks, and I do,

Though through the prism of a different lens.

One that time has bent out of shape,

A form of escape, from those

Days of the blackboard jungle. And I wonder,

Were we ever on the same page?


On those shifting sands of time,

Lines were drawn. Days when our fathers

Told us constantly, you don't know you're born.


Sitting in regimented rows to be taught by those

With lives left raw by war we’d never known,

While we hungered for change. Unaware

Their deranged landscape was always present,

But never spoken of.


What shall we write? we’d ask.


Were they recalling letters from the front,

By those who didn’t make it home; that

Served as lessons for others to learn?


‘Paper never refused ink’, they’d groan!




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trevor homer

Fri 16th Oct 2020 15:15

Many thanks for taking the time to comment, Keith. It's always special when a piece of writing resonates in such a way.

Yes, Greg, It's undeniable that we did. As to those who made it possible through their selfless sacrifice, they are usually the ones who reflect silently and privately.

Thanks Stephen and Stephen for your likes.

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keith jeffries

Thu 15th Oct 2020 17:13


This is a masterpiece of poetry and I do not say this lightly. So well composed and full of deep thoughts. It merits more than any one reading and is a means of serious reflection.

Thank you indeed for this.

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Greg Freeman

Thu 15th Oct 2020 14:29

I do think that maybe our generation had the best of it, Trevor. Avoided having to go to war, not bearing the brunt of the economic catastrophe that is Covid. Oddly, I've tried to delve deep into my father's experience of wartime, to experience vicariously what I escaped.

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