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Memories

Memories

 

Woolen mittens cover chilblained hands,
tears before bed Mother understands.
An ill-fitting black gabardine mac.
Walnuts in a bowl by the fire to crack.

 

Frosted window panes greet the morning light,
as the dawn of the day replaces the night.
A winter wonderland for small fingernails to scrape.
Whilst a shivering Mother has the breakfast to make.

 

Covers pulled up quickly, over a wet bed.
Tears, as to the table the children are led.
Reading the back of the cereal packet,
Sister and Brother making a racket.
Cornflakes and toast if we have bread,
snotty noses wiped and off to school we head.

 

Just missed the solo in the school choir
running home in tears tripping in the mire.
Just missed being Mary in the nativity,
'You can be narrator with your photographic memory.'

 

Rummaging through jumble sales,
washing clothes in the bath.
Dad is acting silly and they are having a laugh.

 

Burning old shoes during the miners strikes.
No warmth to be had as we huddle round the fire,
the stink of burning rubber as the flames leap higher.
Running to the shop to buy candles for the night.
Rivers mountains and streams played by candlelight.

 

A serial joiner, of every church and group in town,
I remember telling Mum, and how she used to frown.
I would head off to Sunday school, Mum and Dad still in bed.
I just could not wait for those Bible stories to be read.

 

Christmas time, draft sherry and port, 
Dad's few bottles of beer bought.
Toffees on the tree, the snowglobe on the hearth.
Nylon nighties changed into before lunch,
a bagful of nuts on which to munch.

 

Mum and Dad happy for that one day in the year,
children hoping the atmosphere would never disappear.

 

Children now all grown up and gone.
Never had much of any real value,
except memories which remain clear and true.

 

©2018 Taylor Crowshaw

 

 

An excerpt from The Slumbering Pines available on Amazon

◄ I Protest

The Last Apple on the Tree ►

Comments

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Candice Reineke

Mon 29th Oct 2018 15:20

Love this, Taylor! Thank you for putting yourself (and your memories) out there for all of us to appreciate along with you. I’m sitting by my fireplace now. ?

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Hugh

Mon 29th Oct 2018 09:14

A powerful read and an opportunity to open the doors to the memories of our own past.Well done.

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Taylor Crowshaw

Sun 28th Oct 2018 16:53

Thank you, walkingman, Hannah, Jon, Anya, Jennifer, Big Sal, Don, Brian, K.J. and Martin..you are such a wonderful support. I don't think it is easy for any of us to put our work out there. We hold our breaths and press enter and our baby is out there in all its glory for better or worse. Thank you...?

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Martin Elder

Sun 28th Oct 2018 16:41

you have beautifully caught a real slice of life here Taylor with childhood memories


Nice one

Big Sal

Sun 28th Oct 2018 14:25

You keep honing your craft and continue to improve with each piece.

Probably your best one in my opinion, and the last little stanza had so much power you'd think it was a chorus even without being heard before the end. . .

On a side note, I read this while "Hallelujah" performed by Rufus Wainwright played on my coffee table, and it may have something to do with the classic-film vibe I get from your work - but you could put this to music and have it come out impeccable.

Do you mind me asking, is "The Slumbering Pines" a full anthology, a chapbook, or? The title sounds amazing.?

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jennifer Malden

Sun 28th Oct 2018 14:18

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful! I think you had a lot with an obviously close, caring family which is so much important for a child than expensive clothes or toys.

Jennifer

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Jon Stainsby

Sun 28th Oct 2018 11:30

Beautiful. ?

<Deleted User> (18118)

Sun 28th Oct 2018 10:04

Beautiful poetry, full of nostalgia.
The memories of childhood, hopes and dreams amid hardship.
A joy to read.

Hannah

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walkingman

Sun 28th Oct 2018 09:21

I love the feel and the imagery.

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