Sunday, September 30, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
Looking Back Through Memory’s Veil
I look back through memory’s veil
To that distant child living through historyand approaching chaos.
What in that early time led to the present being?
A variety of influences played their parts:
That fearsome headmaster , tall and ramrod straight,
Was countered by parents of tolerant authority.
There was a brother so small and so determined in his play,
So full of imagining,So much an individual.
Wide fields and tall trees were there
For love of the wilderness and joy of freedom.
Fetes and concerts divided the year, each to its own season.
A witch’s deserted hovel was a place of terror.Never to be entered.
Death was a part of it,
A well loved Grandad taken in old age.
Many of poverty’s children were a part of that time,
Poorly clad scraps of humanity with noses so runny, faces so dirty and plimsolled feet in pouring rain.
“Land of Hope and Glory?”
Later there was the convent ,
An austere place of black-robed gliding figures,
The smell of polish, lead pencils and yesterday’s dinner.
Crocodiles of schoolgirls demurely curtsy passing Reverend Mother
Hiding their frolicksome hearts beneath severely uniformed exteriors.
That French nun who taught us the Marseillaise,
Was she homesick?
Trees, river marshes, those fields so wide and free
Awaited the return from days at the desk and academic enforcement.
Was there ever such freedom again
As the holidays brought?
There was time to run, time to climb,
Woodland exploration and riverside adventures with laughing companions.
But there was also fear.
Fear of the rapidly approaching dread shadow of conflict
Sometimes entered the child’s mind,
Momentarily blotting out child hood.
The sharp axe of war crashed down,
Slicing through that far off world with terrible sureness.
Somewhere, beyond eternity, do those sun-lit children still play?
MSK.
To that distant child living through historyand approaching chaos.
What in that early time led to the present being?
A variety of influences played their parts:
That fearsome headmaster , tall and ramrod straight,
Was countered by parents of tolerant authority.
There was a brother so small and so determined in his play,
So full of imagining,So much an individual.
Wide fields and tall trees were there
For love of the wilderness and joy of freedom.
Fetes and concerts divided the year, each to its own season.
A witch’s deserted hovel was a place of terror.Never to be entered.
Death was a part of it,
A well loved Grandad taken in old age.
Many of poverty’s children were a part of that time,
Poorly clad scraps of humanity with noses so runny, faces so dirty and plimsolled feet in pouring rain.
“Land of Hope and Glory?”
Later there was the convent ,
An austere place of black-robed gliding figures,
The smell of polish, lead pencils and yesterday’s dinner.
Crocodiles of schoolgirls demurely curtsy passing Reverend Mother
Hiding their frolicksome hearts beneath severely uniformed exteriors.
That French nun who taught us the Marseillaise,
Was she homesick?
Trees, river marshes, those fields so wide and free
Awaited the return from days at the desk and academic enforcement.
Was there ever such freedom again
As the holidays brought?
There was time to run, time to climb,
Woodland exploration and riverside adventures with laughing companions.
But there was also fear.
Fear of the rapidly approaching dread shadow of conflict
Sometimes entered the child’s mind,
Momentarily blotting out child hood.
The sharp axe of war crashed down,
Slicing through that far off world with terrible sureness.
Somewhere, beyond eternity, do those sun-lit children still play?
MSK.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Friday, September 07, 2007
Sun and Shadows
Sun and shadows make
Our garden lovely.
Shadows and bright sun
Across the lawn
Make beauty.
MSK
Our garden lovely.
Shadows and bright sun
Across the lawn
Make beauty.
MSK
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