As the falling rain
trickles among the stones
memories come bubbling out.
It's as if the rain
had pierced my temples.
the reedy voice
of the servant
War is never over
Thought the treaties may be signed
The memories of the battles
Are forever in our minds
War is never over
So when you welcome heroes home
Remember in their minds they hold
Memories known to them alone
1 Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us ...
2 Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent ...
3 Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient ...
4 Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous,
5 But nothing happens.
6 Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire.
7 Like twitching agonies of men among its brambles.
My Star has vanished in the west,
And with it dies the day,
And all the rosy light of life
Is fading into gray.
The sky is full of other stars,
But none to me are dear;
Their silvery light fills all the night,
But still the world is drear.
I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.
I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
I had a passion for vibrant flowers, and I was often found in the garden,
As one gains the haunting night bird songs, in burgundy skies darkening.
My garden had many varieties of flowers, in countless appealing colors,
Like a rainbow comprising so many shades, it does not need any others.
People ofttimes complimented my flowers, saying I had a green thumb,
Like a dawn beginning in rose rapture, not knowing where it came from!
I also had a lucrative business, supplying flowers for special occasions,
We weren’t alone in my childhood home,
My parents, my sisters and me –
The ghost, Mr Man, lived there too between times;
Sometimes lingering on stairs or in dark corners.
Sometimes longing or lonely.
And now far from childish thoughts and years, I am put in mind of that first home:
The smells of the dusty cupboard where silverfish hid;
Prehistoric and nocturnal.
The loud echoes of the laughing house, home to the tribe;
It has been ages since the laughter died, which was many suns ago,
Soon swept away by fleeting time, like the brief giggle of a rainbow.
My vacant halls now are silent, and the flower garden is overgrown,
Effusing rich and cloying fragrance, lovely nature reclaiming its own.
The tree boughs are overhanging, the bushes begging to be pruned,
Like a piano that once made beautiful music, is begging to be tuned.
The fruit trees so long neglected, has left fruit rotting on the ground,
See Dick run, in the golden latterly years,
When past is gone, the future premieres.
Jane is a librarian, in the floral ruby days,
Sally is a teacher, in the tangerine phase.
Puff pursues orange butterflies in heaven,
And he and Spot frolic, in sunshine lemon.
Mother and Father reside in assisted living,
Where the blue jay to the moon is singing.
Inside our minds time often flows backward,
To rich sparkling treasures we left behind,
But the memories become somewhat blurred,
In a landscape where purple mists purblind.
There we find old gold, because time is kind
To the woman in the shoe with children,
Fading slow with Alice in Wonderland,
And Humpty Dumpty, from the wall fallen.
And old loves and those we knew beforehand,
Not to mention past sudden joys unplanned!