OLD LOVE

The locals were knuckling down

clearing streams, tackling graffiti

pupils photographed with medals

face painting at obscure galas

somebody minding their own business

beaten up

a notorious black spot

head injuries

scalding letters about local planning

locking horns over backhanders

and transparency.

 

It was all there in the local rag.

    Then I saw the photograph

love had crept in under cover of age

in a nursing home

the two sprites

with old tender hands touching

eyes meeting

stories dancing in the comfort bubble

 

him in his chair

her in hers

the way things are.

 

Tongues wagging, fairy dust

amongst the high backs

with some minor swooning

a marriage duly arranged

life moving into a new gear

as yet untried.

◄ AND THEN WAS THE WINTER

FUNKY MEMORY ►

Comments

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raypool

Fri 6th Jan 2017 21:14

Hi Colin, I found your comment deliciously revealing about the points of the poem; a lot of what I do is just lists of things as they happen, but underneath that ? I'm entirely with you mate. I am finding the juxtaposition of verses abruptly can focus or broaden issues a bit, so I try that.
Hilarious joke about erections! swap that for elections maybe. Seriously where would we all be without volunteers (the big society crap is really all hands to the tiller for nothing). Wow, thanks.

Thanks for enjoying this Paul - it really inspired me that there is life before death. I am a serial poster, and try to keep up the output!!

Ray

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Paul Waring

Fri 6th Jan 2017 18:10

Hi Ray, nearly missed this under the deluge of recent postings! You reveal this great story with real skill. Heartwarming on a cold winter's night! Thanks, Paul

<Deleted User> (13762)

Fri 6th Jan 2017 08:25

'the locals were knuckling down' starts this off with a nod to Cameron's Big Society ideal - or, let's get the public mugs doing for free what the government should be paying them to do. Tory Socialism lol. Then someone literally gets mugged - yep that was all of us right? And meanwhile the local council continues on its own corrupt decision making processes. But love saves the day and we drift off into a lovely little sidestep story of two old pensioners in a nursing home.

Maybe this is two poems stitched together but the old couple couldn't give a fuck about verse one - maybe we should adopt their mantra for dealing with this present political madness by saying fuck you we're not doing it unless you pay us a proper wage. Now there's proper Socialism Dave.

I remember a comedian back in the Thatcher era saying I cannot achieve an erection under a Conservative administration. I guess that's maybe not an issue for your two nursing home sprites Ray. But 'with life moving into a new gear' who can tell.

Great poem this. Cheers, Col.

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