To be numb
Without movement
Caught awhile
Absent in your own mind
Unsung
Slowly moving
Dancing
Somewhere back in time
Spaces
Voids unopened
Fumbling
For another line
Piece together
A fresh
And first collection
Surely still, yet still sublime
Run
Right back into my arms
A cradled enclave
If to be so brave
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All that is me
Are words on bits of paper
All that I have
Is love to hold you tight
All was undone
And then you held my hand
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Here I am
I listen to your northern songs
Your melancholic, mellow middle-age
I remember your catchy tunes
Your good year
For the roses
I send her picture postcards
Of past times from a while ago
When I bounced around
In brothel creepers
And skin tight, drainpipe
Sky blue jeans
Seems like only yesterday
How to have found
So so many memories
So so many places to linger
While you stroke
My hair, faced back
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Rounded off post tops, twisted and twirled
Balustrades, fair places for the children
With fair hair
Sat with a smile
Beside your granddad, in a straw hat
A string vest
You remember the testament
A personal recollection of the ending
Of the war
Indescribable, words fail
Instead; tales of evacuation
Sisters
Children; from all over
In ones and twos and threes
With your long past adolescent
Smile
Behind the broad rimmed glasses
Back into happiness
Way away from sadness
Toss another pebble
Into the flow and ebb of sea
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I begin by remembering something always different
From the poem by Yevtushenko, just called Waking
Think on that
Just, for the moment, think on
Some things, same things
Yet always different
Without then their past connections or disconnects
Afloat in space, without landing, without mooring
Awash with the newness of it all together
The marvel, the meander, the wondering why
And how in the shower the radio plays
Back there, in your en-suite bedroom
There are echoes, sing-alongs
Songs of love, with differences no longer intended
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