You came at me running the night in,
Pink shirt, gold buttoned waistcoat,
No one knew my trembling heart,
Touching the night stars with a kiss,
The curtains letting in the morning light,
And we becoming white mountains,
Rowing into togetherness with oars of
Steel.

Love Mary to Roger xxxx

Now we find
The garden
Sweet with lavender,
The roses giving out
Their perfume,
Still air after the storm;
Scorched pavements
From sun's shining;
Hollyhock coloured stripes
Horizontal laddered stems;
Quietness in the afternoon hour
Before the coming home
Begins.

Love Mary ***

WIMBLEDON COMMON

Wimbledon common
Was always the place to go,
Catching the train from Streatham
The family all aglow,
Sandwiches in a paper bag
Thermos in a sack,
Plastic sandels and tennis racket
Not forgetting the cricket bat.

Everyone was skippy
The sun high in the sky,
Dad had his umbrella
But the rain was shy,
Jumping from the platform
Down a row of steps,
Brother took a tumble
And that was that.

Plasters in a pocket
All was mended soon,
Finally recovered
Felt over the moon,
Reached the grassy stretches
Whoops mind the dogs,
Come away from the lovers
They're out for a jog.

Find a shiny tree trunk
Horizontal on the ground,
Four happy people
Tuck in to raspberry jam,
Now for the thermos
Plastic cups ahead,
Here come the wasps
To eat our jam and bread.

Later penguin biscuits
And a trip behind the bin,
Dad puts out the wickets
Let's see who wins,
After a quiet session
Brother looses his cool,
Slings the bat skyward
You should see it go,
Mother looked upwards
Covering her head,
Just managed to miss it
Landing on the hedge.

I went off walking
To gather pretty flowers,
Dad hid under the paper
We had a quiet hour,
Clouds gathering slowly
The sun going down,
What a lovely day in the country
We're now homeward bound.

In memory and gratitude to my lovely mum and dad
Grace and Eric Ayton- Robinson who always did their best.
Love Mary **

For a time I took photographs
In black and white
To enhance
What is timeless
And thus free
From the world's
Scrutiny.

In layered petticoat
Edged with lace
White and flimsy
Which did float
Wellington boots
And handknit coat.

******* ribbon in her hair
The fairest waves
Lay just there
On her shoulders
Round her face
A touch of angelic grace.

I took my Daisy
To the shops
A yard or two to pop
To get something
Nice for tea.
Biscuits, sweets
And ice cream freeze.

As with an artist's eye
Could not let this moment by
Blonde curls she peered around
I captured this without a sound.

The photograph of a little girl
In an undated world
Classless, nameless
For all to see
The wonders of simplicity.

Best photograph I have ever taken. Thank you Daisy  May , love Grandma ***

Her name is that
Of past hours
From days of power
And magnificence
When marble busts
Were cast
To satisfy
The desire
For eternity.

But this little beauty
Will not end her days
In  lofty halls
With locked and barred doors
The dust settling on her hair
For she will be suspended
Captured and rendered
On all the screens
That can be seen
From phone to
The Internet
And global websites
Printed texts.

Her name is Delphi
Youngest child
Full lipped star
Hair falling long
Over her arms
Eyes dark under
Arched brows
Peachy cheeks
Tanned skin
In the princess dress
She loves the best
From Asda or Primark.

To my lovely Delphi of the dollies love from Grandma xxxxx

MILO.
IT'S OK.

At 13 life
Can feel
Like an empty purse
Childhood verses
Disperse
But you'd rather
Be there with your Lego
Building bridges in your mind
Places magical
And fine
Not the lessons
You are bored
Homework
Such a chore
Inside your house
You escape
Relax, collapse
Take the dog
For a walk.

When people ask
How was your day
You look at them
And say It's ok.

For my Milo , soft as a bird's wing.
It will get better . Love you my dear grandson. From Grandma ***

You stand in front of me
Little boy
A face so gentle and intent
On telling me about your day
With head tipped to one side
You tell me stories with your eyes
Slowly in you quiet notes
So I not miss a sentiment
Stories you like to write
About animals and life
With long expansive words
You always will be heard
A writer you'd like to be
Someone special
We shall see.
Thank you
For all your words
I keep them in my heart
Well stirred.

With love to Monty from Grandma ***

We would sit together
On that black vinyl settee
With the orange cushions
And stretched zips ,split.
With the light going down
Over the horizon
Across the fields
To the bay
And the small lampshade
Bringing comfort
Lit up the corner
Near the table
Where we had our teacups
And a bicuit tin,
Half empty.
We would talk
Later into the night
You in one armchair
And I near the table
Returning always
To put the world to rights;
It was better in the old days
When neighbours lent
A pint of milk
And you knew the man
Who sold broken biscuits
And there weren't so many cars
Two in most front gardens now.
Then you would be near asleep
And I ready to go too
But we continued
Talking on and off
Till by three o'clock
We had to stop.
If I could have you back.

Love to my dearest dad Eric William Henry Ayton -Robinson

GERTIE.  

A family of nine
Mother died
Father took a gun but no one knew
He blew
For the sorrow was too much
I heard.
But you my children's Nana
With your country life
Potato digging
Outside toilet
Did not expect
A Rolls Royce
You came to visit regularly
And at our door
My children stood
Arms wide for your smile
The smell of lipstick
On their cheek
At each third weekend
Roast beef in paper bag
Toys and sweeties galore
At first I found it hard
Different flesh I suppose
But came to love you
As my own
A second mother
Not home grown.

And when you died
At eighty
From a brain tumour
I felt I had lost
Someone I could trust
Stoic saviour of my soul
Whose knitting
I have still.

Love Mary

To Aunty Betty my children's wonderful Nana from Walthamstow. Thank you for all your love and I m

Enter down concrete steps
To the basement flat
Iron railings
Black door
Red painted hall
Condensation on the floor.

Two up, two down
The basement flat
Scrunched together
Back to back
Three sisters, mum and dad
Then the brothers quickly had.

Grandad's face always stern
Impeccably dressed
In shirt and vest
Roast dinners
were the best
Plates on a dresser rest.

Out the back a concrete patch
To play a cricket bat
Across from that
These tenement stacks
Elm trees give a screen
To this suffocating scene.

Street life was the choice
It gave freedom a voice
The boys gathered out late
Playing football with their mates
Fathers called from indoors
Time to stop that ****** noise.

A mile or so stood the hoards
Of Wormwood Scrubs' prison floors
Then there was the track
White City and greyhound backs
Chelsea loved by all the boys
Arsenal just upped their score.

The skyline filled with birds
The trains go rattling by
And yet from this place
My father took himself a pace
Up the street and far away
On a bright and sunny day.

Mary x

It seems to me
When you are young
And never again does it come
A sort of madness
Invades the scene
One wallks about
In another stream.

And so it came to be
On a hot and sunny day
Walking down a crowded street
Not dressed quite complete
In fact hardly anything at all
A bikini and nothing more
Went with boyfriend
Whose name was Rog
Dark and handsome
My prince frog
We went to pay a bill
For his mother
At Basildon still.

How the folks looked at me
Skipping along
In my frills
All the chaps turned around
Women whispered underground.
Everybody seemed to smile
Was this thing really allowed.

Now I am old and grey
Everybody looks away
But in my heart
I'm still that lass
Whose behaviour was
Rather rash.

Mary

We had so much fun when we were very young. Thank you my Roger.

The children all stand
At the headmaster's voice
They do not rejoice
What will it be today?
The girls at the back
Tweek and hack
Twist their hair
And stir.
Hymn books go gliding
To the floor
The boy on the left
Gets hoiked out
Made to sit in the front
With the teacher he dislikes
Someone snores
The teachers aren't singing
Cause they have to watch
Whose doing what.
Then the mood changes
The headmaster takes
To the stage
Makes the children laugh
In so many ways
Tells them stories
Of when he was a lad
On his keyboard plays a tune
Lets have a happy afternoon.

In loving memory of my time as a teacher at  Chater Junior School. Also thank you to the the great and inspiring staff and children.
Love Mary ***

The skies have been overcast, lately.
Draining the flowers of colour,
Bringing Autumn varieties adjacent
To August stock.There is a tiredness
In the stormy winds, a dusting of dry leaf.
We bring water in cans to restore
The last of this Summer's glory.

And hope for just a few more days
When one can bask in the blueness
In ignorance of Winter's call;
With the months of indoors
When perfumed air is gone.
The dampness in spider's dew
Replacing our Summer song .

Mary

"It is time to go to bed my dear".
I turn towards him in my
Plain cotton nightdress.
"Shall I comb your hair
My love, it is all batterered
From the day's excursions."
I feel the comb gentle in
His hands, his warm
Breathing on my face.
That tender touch
Before nightfall.
A connection of body
And soul. Stilled together.
Enfolded in a simple task.
The tidying of a fringe.

Love Mary ***

Nothing will replace you,
The woman who gave me birth,
Your genes dance in me,
As genius or curse.

My love for you is endless,
Like a rippling stream,
It meanders in my heart,
Échos in my dreams.

I can still feel your touch,
The comb in my hair,
Holding my hand,
When nobody was there.

I recall your voice,
Clear as a bell,
Soft and gentle,
Wishing me well.

So , mother dear,
Know my love for you,
Always resides,
In a pocket or two.

In remembrance of my lovely Mother Grace Emily Ayton-Robinson

We went by pathways unknown,
Keeping together our arms enfold,
Such lightness your tender touch,
Seeking my company we matched;
And so it was and so it be ,
That you came to find me .

Love Mary ***

When I was born we still had prefabs,
Just across the road on a patch of land,
Stood four homes like big camper vans,
Windows and a door,
Chimneys too.
People seemed to love them,
A home for a few.

Now most are gone,
Replaced with flats,
Or new houses,
With gardens at the back,
But after the war,
With poor housing stock,
These prefabs were a luxury,
Many glad to have.

Love Mary ***

Writing is to find a surprise,
This journey is unknown,
What began as a memory,
Slips into another land,
It takes its own trajectory,
Finding pockets of gold,
Deep pools under the heart,
It cannot simply be traced,
Becomes a
non- reductive metaphor,
So to speak.
Its ending may fall short
Of its beginning,
What conversation left unsaid,
Revealing only emptiness.
Another stepping stone,
In the foothills.

Love Mary **

Watching the wooden slating,
Where window met sill,
Saw spiders creeping,
Under a full moon,
Owls hooted in the distance,
And the smell of country air
Seeped in amongst fresh sheets.

Our annual holiday on the Island,
Taking it in turns for top bunk,
And first for the bathroom,
Sitting on nylon deck chairs,
Eating cornflakes from a plastic bowl,
This was heaven looking back,
Unless it rained all week.

Thank you Mum and Dad

Becoming a man

The walk had been quieter than usual
Both hid our courage inside
We held hands as always
Yours small and soft
With a Panda in the other.

The gates appeared only too quickly
I handed you your satchel
You did not cry though I did
In the warm you looked up at me
And said 'Goodbye Mummy'.

I knew you were then a man
Taking the lead, going first,
That moment clings to me
Cherished for its bravery
My one and only son.

Love Mum xxxx

The Box .

Evelyn went to a party in her turquoise dress,
Hair combed out with a bunch on top,
She took a present all neatly wrapped and a birthday card of a smiling cat.

The children were all running about
Playing games like ' lets shout'!!
Evelyn spied this cardboard box,
Sat in a corner where no one watched,
She climbed inside and closed the lid,
And saw the light peep through the slits,
Snug and cozy she sat and thought,
Wondered if she might be caught.
Wasn't till the end of day that Evelyn
Was discovered this way.
Out she jumped with a big "Hello"
When Mummy and Daddy came
To take her home.

Love Grandma Mary ***

The old cot .

In our back garden when I a child,
Against the wall and near the top
Stood our old baby cot.
It was painted blue
As my brother came last
A cast iron frame and mesh base.
It now supported my mother's flower pots.
For years it was left abandoned in the rain
Till the paint peeled off and rust got in.
Still it stayed I was over ten.
In all the photographs, there
Remains, this relic from our early days.
Eventually, I moved away
And know not what happened
To it to this day.

Love Mary **

Bruma was a dark brown tawny cat
Who slept most of the time
On carpet or mat,
Sometimes curled up, on the settee,
Next to the baby or Evelyn maybe.

As is the way with cats,
They wake early searching for food,
So after demolishing biscuits and before the family were awake Bruma
Decided to go exploring.

Upstairs she padded on fat soft paws,
Up, and up in the quiet dawn hours.
After three flights she reached the room
Pushed the door and slowly went in.
Inside she began to purr, thought what fun
I can have in here.

The Lego room was Alex's delight,
neatly laid out with sets so bright,
Some  from the archives, others new,
Plenty of hours of playing to do.
There were houses and ships, castles and vans, stations with trains running and ancient space lands.
Boxes of bricks and fairy scenes, a perfect place for a cat to be.

The train went first off the track but Bruma could not lift it back, so on the floor it did stay,
All the people in array.
On top shelf houses tall with gardens and patios and cars to the fore.
Along the roofs Bruno did step
Peeped through the windows
But suddenly stopped,
Down fell a house onto the ground,
All the Lego bits scattered around,
Started to get a bit afraid,
So Bruma decided to disengage,
Downstairs she went quick as a mouse,
Fast asleep in a trice.
Never again did Bruma dare
To venture into the Lego lair.

Love Grandma Mary ***

If I'd been born a dandelion
A life of trouble free,
Propped against a fence
Or near an old Oak tree,
No one would notice
When I disappeared,
Only finding next year
I suddenly reappeared.

Love
Mary xxxxx

Evelyn was here today ,
With the toys she did play,
Found the shell,
With the mother of pearl,
Thought that rather pretty,
As well.

Being two there's lots to do ,
The world is full of all the new,
Using words to explore,
Holds the Lego she adores.
Flies the fairies round the room,
Time to go; Oh! so soon.

Love Grandma Mary ***

SWEETPEA,

What are you doing my lovely ,
In your dress so full.
Unpacking the shopping,
Knocking and tapping.
Until the cupboards are full.

You've found how to point your toes,
No one taught you how I know,
For in that heart,
A mirror dance ,
Showed you where to go .

Up in the sky you like to fly,
Down on the slide you flow,
Then on the beach,
The snails you reach ,
And put them in your toes.

Sweetpea you are funny,
Your face open and sunny ,
People will laugh ,
At your cheeky glance,
And talk about it all the way home.

The Lego Boards.

I remember the day when everything was perfect,
The children quietly playing before tea,
And no expectation other than the togetherness
Of warmth through a window pane.

The Lego boards stretched out in a line,
Travelling the length of two adjoining rooms,
Houses, bungalows,a mansion and windmill,
Dotted with flower heads to make gardens.

I sat at the sewing machine in the sunshine,
Making a flannel gym slip for Katharine,
Lucky came in and purred against me,
Meowing for the rattle of her biscuits.

This is a life to value, where privilege
And contentment reign from simplicity,
And happiness found in human contact,
Captured in time and with love.

Love Mary xxxx

Welham Road, Streatham.

Brown Clarks shoes all new,
Taking me back and forth to school,
In the rain and in the sun,
Skipping, dancing going for a run;
Under my bed they slept at night,
Polished and bright at morning light,
Was it the fairies that kept them clean,
Or mother's hand,
Spreading the cleaming sheen.

Love Mary **
Thank you Mum and Dad for keeping my feet straight and dry.

Sitting round the radio,
We would listen to the play,
Broadcast every Saturday,
In the evening with lights low,
Wrapped in our blankets,
All snug and warm,
Sharing so many stories,
Of lives both great and small.

Those days I remember,
For the closeness that we felt,
Our little family, never remote;
'The Deep Blue Sea',staying behind,
For its impact, of a solitary kind.
Nothing like the radio to let the eye find,
Pictures in the imagination,
Are the very best kind.

Love Mary ***

Oh Mr Spaceman, it seems a long way off,
Since you landed, carefully, on a lunar spot;
Standing at the station gazing at the stars,
On our way to Walthamstow to spend happy hours;
I recall that day, vividly, holding Roger's hand,
Thinking how wondrous,
And lucky I am.

Love Mary **

What do we do to time.

Who will remember me after I have gone,
Memory changes everything,
With the seasons come and gone,
Lives are full of business,
Few stop and pause,
Finding a special moment,
To cherish and applaud,
But in my garden,
Is my Mother's Hydrangea bush,
Her shoes in my wardrobe,
That sometimes I do kiss.
On the wall is an embroidery,
Done by her dear hands,
And glasses in a case,
That's as near as I can.
Touching the memories,
The hours that we shared,
They are now part of me
Never to be disturbed.

Love Mary **

My Daisy

From a tiny ball,
I always felt you weep,
Silently,
Whilst your heart broke,
Clutching disappointment,
In your small hands,
Spreading out the jewels,
Of your wonderful tears,
And never letting go.

Love Grandma ***

The gardener came to clear the moss,
Which had gathered under pots,
Beneath benches,
And along the side of walls,
On hands and knees,
He chiselled away,
Scrubbing with water,
Until that concrete gleamed
In the late afternoon sun.
The grass mowed,
Yellowed in the heat.
He sat down;
A short break,
Before returning
To the clearing,
Of the moss.

  

Love Mary and thank you ,Ian

They all spoke at once,
Claiming their first choice of pose:
Reclining sublimely on mattress,
Or balancing slightly on toe,
Some wanted seated sedately,
Others curled up into a ball.
Whatever it was it was difficult,
I did get paid after all.

So after position was chosen,
Took quietly to my place,
Hoping that comfort found me,
I did not get a pain or an ache.
Found a patch of grey on the window,
To focus my gaze for the day.
Then drifted off into dreamland,
Until my head fell away.

Love Mary **

Van Gogh's models were the poor,
The peasants, hungry with grief,
Girls lost and lonely in misery,
The sewer for whom time was a thief.

Manet came from the classes,
His models passionately posed,
One controversial painting,
Naked and eyes not closed.

Delacroix had them writhing,
Like snakes in an arabesque,
Or standing there half- naked,
A banner wrapping their head.

Then we come to Picasso,
The woman and girls that he loved,
Painted with ultimate tenderness,
A child holding a dove.

Go back in time to the medieval,
Where models turned into saints,
And angels surrounding madonnas
Quietly came and went.

Today the life class is different,
Feminism has made it unclean,
And Art Schools practice the video,
Naked bodies now rarely seen.

But drawing from observation,
Is a skill perfected by work,
Letting  the imagination,
Creating a beauty that lasts.

Love Mary **

When I draw you I create both of us anew,
Your form fills my eyes and I am moved,
I take from you myself, and all my idiosyncrasies.
You are my voice calling its name,
I try to find what is beauty,
Through line and mark and scale,
I give this back to you as Love,
A drawing on a page.

Love Mary

Marie Thérèse Walter, an imaginative tale.

Marie Thérèse lifted up her golden hair
And placed a clip on the left to hold back a fringe.
She came through the city of Paris, in the hot sunshine wearing simple sandals
And a Summer dress.
           --------------------------
At the door of her lover's house she paused,
Wondering wistfully how he would greet her.
Would she find him laden with canvas
Impatient for her love or her pose.
He was an artist, fabulously famous,
Married, with son, to a noble woman.
She was his mistress at seventeen.
The thing from which he drew inspiration.
That moved her to tears.
                ------------------------
On a street in Paris whilst shopping,
Browsing the Galleries Lafayette,
They had met by chance in an instance,
Her face attacking his skin.
Tall, athletic and graceful,
A beauty with Grecian profile,
Fascinated, he was, by her movement,
The space between her eyes.

Unhindered by his pronouncement,
She offered to model there in;
And so began the beginning,
Of changes,
That altered art from within.
             ----------------------------
The price of art is expensive,
Its development claims many lives,
For Marie Therese it was lonely,
After Picasso said goodbye.
She lived with their daughter,
Maya, born out of love,
But ten years of giving,
Only made her sad.
After he died,
She knew, her time had come.
Knowing the world was empty
With his power gone.

Love Mary xxxx

Little baby sweetly sleep,
Gentle in our arms do keep,
Watching every tiny move,
Mummy and Daddy,
Are holding you.
We are waiting for a smile,
Know it will come in a little while.

Two dark eyes look at us,
Giving now all your trust,
We will always honour you,
With a love that is true,
Be there at your side,
Little baby sweetly sleep,
Daddy will make you a fimo sheep.

Love Grandma Mary xxxx

Evelyn was here today ,
With the toys she did play,
Found the shell,
With the mother of pearl,
Thought that rather pretty,
As well.

Being two there's lots to do ,
The world is full of all the new,
Using words to explore,
Holds the Lego she adores.
Flies the fairies round the room,
Time to go; Oh! so soon.

Love Grandma Mary ***

So let me tell you,
about my friend,
Very different,
From other men,
Lives in a cottage,
On the end,
Sails his boat,
On the Norfolk coast,
All alone,
Under the thatch,
Plays the piano,
Watches a match,
This man,
Whose name is John,
Met a lady,
When he was young,
Turned out to be,
My very special,
Aunty B.

Love Mary ***

She never had big enough eyes,
That's what I thought looking in the mirror,
And they were blue, so in photos
Always looked faded.
They were taken from my father,
The colour of speedwell in the meadows,
My mother's were hazel ,nearly brown.
Like my brothers.
Eyes are the entry to the soul it is said.
Over the years I came to like them.
Quiet eyes that lay on the surface of a canvas,
A painting created by a friend,
Who saw the beauty in them.

Thank you Ian for my  painting .
Love Mary **

Oka .

Little black baby ,
Your hair tightly curled
Came with you parents,
To inhabit new world,
The streets of Streatham,
A London suburb,
Became your place
of residence,
For a time you dwelled.

Oka , you were beautiful,
In your nylon frock,
Ribbons in your hair,
Brightly coloured socks,
Your name means Cherry Blossom,
In English and Japanese,
But you came from Jamaica,
With the banana trees.

Your mother had to work,
So left you with a friend,
She looked after you
From eight till ten.
I would play with you,
Tickle your toes,
Give you a bottle,
Loved you lots I know.
Your parents returned,
To their land of sun,
We all missed you,
The sixties had begun.

Two years later,
Your parents returned,
They'd had another baby,
A pretty little girl.
But no Oka,
You'd died whilst away,
My friend was at work,
So the new baby could not stay,
Felt your loss for many a year,
Your parents disappeared,
We all missed you,
Our beautiful, Oka, girl.

In memory of Oka a sweet little black baby,
Born at the beginning of the sixties
And died before she was two.

Love Mary **

Paper Bag .

In a cupboard above the fridge,
Containing dinner plates,
And useful letters,
Stamped with dates,
Was a shelf,
Deep and wide,
With hidden things,
Kept inside.
The cupboard had a door,
And a shiny latch,
Not actually forbidden,
To open that catch.

And so it fell on a Summer's day,
That mother peeped inside,
Feeling as she often did,
For the bag of sweetiepies,
And all the day she nibbled,
Tempted by the taste,
The nearness of the sweetness,
She could not erase.
By four o'clock she worried,
The bag was getting thin,
Better go out shopping,
To replace the toffees in.
And so it was that father,
With his generous heart,
Offered in the evening ,
The sweeties,
Without remark.

I too ate the sweeties but never let the bag get too thin.
Love to my dear parents Grace and Bill  from Mary **

Hollyhocks grow
Where nothing else shows
In the cracks
Of paving slats
Under edges
Of garden hedges
Behind the bins
Where debis wins
Hollyhocks grow
Where nothing else shows.

Love to you all Mary , Mother, Grandma xxxx

In shop windows, reflected panes of glass,
There once was a woman walking,
In heels ever so fast;
Her shirts flowed outwards
To the breeze of a step,
Hair bounced upwards,
Silky with respect;
Inside a pocket
A tea bag and a chain,
Sixpence for the metre
To get her home again.

Love Mary **

There she sits behind the telephones,
Welcoming staff with a smile
As they climb to the second floor
Or pass on along the corridors of power.
Smartly dressed in the latest cheap fashions,
Freckled face hidden behind mascara and
Powder.

Sorting and distributing the mail
She gets to know the residents,
Their desks and personalities:
The sick, unhappy, widowed,
Lonely, humorous and lecherous
Trustworthy, wholesome and shy.
The young lads looking for a date.

Pretty women with tales of love.
And those who remained single,
Some with bitterness and jealousy
Others contented.
It was a daily journey into adulthood,
The rituals and rules of the working
World.

Then there was Frank who delivered
The mail.
Salacious, rough and roguish,
And Kathy the tea lady
Who showed a breast or two
To the boys.
Somehow out of this cacophony
I found my Roger.

Love Mary **

My poems are my background
They are my gender and race,
My temperament in the evening,
My breath on a steamed glass,
They start with me as I rose,
Tiny and dreamy in the night,
Pattering barefoot,
Down a sunny path.

They are my parents and brother,
The children I gave birth,
Moonlight on a river,
A cuddle in the church,
My poems tell you more,
Than any photograph,
They are wider and deeper,
Than a narrative verse.

Love Mary ***

Inspired by the Slam poets 2017

Your sound

Listen each morning,
To the creaking of the bed,
A body turning in its waking;
Cars clip on as the street lights,
Glow colder into day;
I hear the door handle turn,
Feet pad down the stairs,
To the coffee jar and toasted bread;
The aroma drifts upwards,
Stiring my senses.
This familiarity is you,
The person I trust.

For Rog love Mary **

Farewell to an idea
In a way
We are just this
Concepts, imagination and sound
You see me but I can't be found
I think I know who I am
But the I evades the me
Leaving a collection of hours
Somewhere between the stars
I lived a life with you
Happily we made a crew
In a random,spectacular Que.

Love Mary , Mum , Grandma xxxxxx

Look at the cave paintings
Back in ancient times,
See how the shapes and colours,
Transform this world of ours.
Images tell a story
Not descriptions of life,
But metaphoric depiction
Abstract verse.

Picasso read their story
Knew of their words,
Found on his canvas
Flat and balanced to tell.
Seurat was a scientist
Applied this to his art,
Constructed like Picasso
A surface that did dance.

Love Mary ***