I Like Sitting Here

I like sitting here, I can be with my friends.
Of course Gladys can't hear now and Elsie can't bend
but we chatter, I know we repeat what we say,
sometimes once, sometimes twice, sometimes ten times a day. . .
but I like sitting here, at eleven and three,
comes the lass with the trolley and a nice cup of tea.

It's just as I'd brew it, they do very well,
if it wasn't quite right, there's no way that we'd tell,
yes I like sitting here and the staff are so kind,
although busy and bustling but still never mind,
they serve me my breakfast, my dinner and tea
and they never forget, I need help with all three.

Yes I like sitting here, quietly closing my eyes,
I drift through my youth, with its laughter and sighs. . .
and though nobody sees through the wrinkles and age,
I am once again young, with youth's glory and rage.
I dance like a feather, borne only by love,
and the magic of moonlight that twinkles above. . .
and I scream at the hussey, who strived, planned and schemed,
to steal my first true love and key to my dreams.

Yes I like sitting here and I'm never ignored,
I see all the same people and yet I'm not bored,.
I could be alone in some garret or slum,
yet I'm here in this Heaven, where lucky old come.
I was independent, but I couldn't cope,
I tried but I struggled and given I'd mope. . .
it made all-round good sense to move into this home,
where I'd never be lonely, or struggle alone.

Yes I like sitting here, my memories can thrive,
I can dream of my husband and wish him alive.
Oh we had such a love, youth may not comprehend
all the joy and contentment, we thought had no end.

When he went to the war, we thought both hearts might break
and I feared for the sacrifice, maybe I'd make.
He spent years as a prisoner but when my thoughts roam,
they drift to the wonderful day he came home!

Of course some of my friends are much older but fitter,
some do the 'Times' crossword and one is a knitter.
They help me, include me and don't mind my chatter.
I sleep at a party and know it won't matter.
I like sitting here, I feel happy and safe.
I know I can spend all my days in this place.
I know they won't move me, they're not that unkind,
'cause I like sitting here, I'm at peace in my mind.

Love's Evening

Let's not sail the distant stars,
nor ride the crescent moon
we'll let the Angels sleep on clouds
'til sunrise lifts the gloom.

Let's not ride the ocean waves
or chariots of fire,
nor cruise the seven seas and back
nor hear a heavenly choir.

Just hold my hand in quiet content
and softly speak my name,
share with me the joining
of two hearts become the same.

Let us not reach for youth's desire
instead, in older 'guise,
may we, in peace, enjoy the love
reflected in our eyes.

The softness of our lives grown old
makes gentle, loves bright song
and wraps us both in quiet joy
'til life's sweet day is gone.

Tied With a Ribbon

Tied with a ribbon. . .the letters of war,
of love torn apart. . .of ink touched dreams
written as he starved, of food, of comfort,
of life without guards, of love without bars.

Private thoughts read by an enemy,
shared with jailers, spoiled by their sight
but sealed with a kiss that nurtured hope
on two sides of a bloody void.

Reunited. . .flesh wounds healed,
scarred thoughts bravely denied,
together again in love and forgiveness,
'til life was spent and rest was shared.

Left in tribute, tied with ribbon. . .

paper memories,

a love undefeated.

Faith

Precious thoughts,
gone to silent thief
with jackdaw stealth,

to searing nest
of melting gold,
where alchemy
destroys a dream
in flames of change.

Burn my lost desire,
cremate my sketch for life

but set aside my hope
and spare belief,

for faith will see me triumph in the end.

Deny Me Not!

Deny me not my daily bread,
my dustbowl life brings hunger's threat;
my water is a roulette sip
contamination's random bet.

Deny corruption's evil thieves
and hasten aid to starving souls,
irrigate the barren earth
and purify the water holes.

Deny me not my right to life
and gift my child the right to learn,
I beg you from my hungry heart,
you have so much. . .it is our turn.

Dark and Light

Treacle darkness coats leaves
on gnarled branches ancient born;
sleeves the trunk of mighty oak
whose roots descend on creeping quest.

The path is lost, the way is blind,
Orion stumbles stars extinct,
yet overhead a screeching owl
defies the black and carves the air.

---------

Ruby wound, horizon born,
bleeds to gold in eastern hope.
A bird extols relief and joy
with trilling voice, from lofty perch.

Blackened threat melts slow to blue
as light in triumph claims the day,
while trembling dew, drops soft to green,
as life is stirred on thirsty quest.

----------

In a circle, life revolves
where light and dark are seamless match,
throughout the eons past and new
through fear and celebration both,
a rolling revelation. . .
gift of birth and price of death,
of roaring storm and tranquil sun,
rejoicing in a history
of challenge met and battles won.

Slipping. . .

From fading mind,
words slip,
slip, slip.

Untraceable, forgotten,
precious treasure lost
to tip of tongue,
just as vivid dreams
lose their gaudy tale
to opened eyes.

Part sentence,
story, motto, rhyme -
vague,
hanging. . .
just out of reach.

Memories
of razor reality
remain to taunt,
as concentration
abandons thought.

Fear is wrapped
in cotton wool confusion,
where life is soft,
quiet,
unchallenged by reason. . .

peace?