Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts

Tuesday, 28 June 2011

A Bouquet Of Memories


My resting place, a crescent of golden sand
Cradles my bouquet of life’s memories
As my shadow touches the sparkling rock pools,
Glinting like splintered glass.

Crumbling cliffs guard my spirit,
As Lowry figures, heads bowed against whipping winds
Trudge along the snaking path.
Steps my worldly self once trod.

And still the gaping cave yawns seaward, my childhood refuge
From sea dragon and pirates bold.
And there I met my love one summer’s day
In the mouth of that cave, when he stole my first kiss.

Wed on these sands, flowing gown, a smile
And blissful tears beneath wide blue skies
As cousins frolicked and wine was sipped,
Now gentle zephyrs carry my soul.

Slice of melon grins on our children’s faces,
As my love and I sat hand in hand
By the bubbling breeze-stirred shallows.
My voice now whispers through russet leaves.

Embracing the wind which blows through my presence,
And whisks away troubles into raging seas
As gales stir the oceans and rainbows shine resplendent
With each skyward-tossed champagne spray.

My spirit floats with fragrant blossoms
Carried on a summer’s breeze, then as night falls
And stars a-light, sweet remembrance of my life
As I dance with angels on gossamer thread.

My ashes are strewn in sighing rushes,
Soft surging dunes and well-trodden paths
Which meander through meadows of larkspur and daisy,
As I watch and remember, and wait for my love.

Angela Barton

Sunday, 2 January 2011

Flowering Redcurrant

Underneath the silver birch
They'd hang pink with pleasure,
Blushing blossoms
Full and frothing.
Beneath the birch's lolling leaves
I'd read, or sing or dream,
And look through dappled light
To pale bare skies
Where contrails paint across the blue.
Small fingers fashioning necklaces
From a constellation
Of crimson-tinged daisies
Dotted on the lawn.
The smell of earth, damp and raw,
Grass-stained knees and the tantalising
Whispers of summer on the breeze.
I'd lie beneath those verdant boughs
Embraced in their beauty.
And even today,
When years have passed,
I'll smell the flowering redcurrant
And remember,
And smile.

A childhood memory, by Angela Barton