Time and Windows

This poem is a reverie and contemplation of my mother.

Time and Windows

If the past is a tattered old book,

then why am I a ghost

at my mother's window,

so clear I can sense her mystery,

and her brown eyes, so alive?


Look, I can fly to her

through the high windows

of my memory

until I'm so close that she disappears,

and the curtain flutters silently.


A dream like this

must be a mere flicker of time,

a clipped reverie;

but I will try each frosted pane,

every attic skylight,

until the clocks run backward into yesterday.


Chris Hubbard





◄ Stone Poem

Heretic ►


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Chris Hubbard

Sat 30th Dec 2017 00:16

Hello Graham and Patricio,

Thank you so much to both of you for your kind responses to this contemplation.

On your point regarding the first line, Graham, the image of the 'tattered old book' was intended as an opening reference to the relative unreliability of old memories (mine, at least). For me, even with memories of my mother, I find that they become gradually less acute, more afflicted with gaps and shadows as years go by; in one way, these personal defects were catalysts for the piece: I yearn for the bright realities of our mutual past.

All the best for the new year,


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Patricio LG

Fri 29th Dec 2017 12:44

I see my mother in my minds window, I see her speak and feel her presence, I wish I could get closer.

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Graham Sherwood

Fri 29th Dec 2017 11:09

Chris there is so much of this that I like but for some reason I keep getting stuck on the first line which for me seems in discord with the rest of the piece. I don't get the tattered book thing.

The rest however is VERY sensitively done, the last verse particularly.

Well done!

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