These are a few poems I wrote whilst I was in Wales for my Grandad`s funeral. They don`t work on their own, but, in total seem to sum up how I was feeling better than I could in a more thought out poem.
1.
On the journey up there,
To Wales, land of my fathers,
All I can think is:
"I`m in no hurry, no hurry"
I go for death and grief
no longer happy homestead,
No hugs from Grandpa.
2.
I saw my grandad today
driving in a banger of all things!
He loves his cars too much for that,
Too bad it was not him.
3.
This country is not so built up as I thought,
All along the roads are trees and fields;
These great gray veins that feed the cities,
Cutting swathes through ancient lands,
Provide a view of something better,
Something, maybe, that God has wrought.
4. Motorway traffic.
Big trucks rumble on,
An obstacle for speeding cars,
70 miles per hour?
A petty speed, we all go faster,
Risking long lives for short minutes.
5.
Black Roads [white lines should run from k]
W
h
i
t
e
l
i
n
e
s
We travel on.
6.
This is my great grandmother`s room,
An old woman always,
I remember wet kisses on ungrateful cheeks,
Sly arms wiped them away
Not appreciative of egg-timed love.
On the wall is her mirror,
Her dolls adorn ancient, dusty shelves.
This room is not often visited,
though on the surface proudly kept.
A clock ticks on in front of me
Where she does not.
My great grandmother`s death?
I`ve not foten thought of it,
It was just a practice run for Stephanie,
My half-sister, who passed three weeks later,
Engulfing us all in grief,
But that was not her fault.
How can a room evoke such memories?
I have long pushed them away,
Into the well of hurt that is the past.
Sad thoughts predominate today,
Tomorrow we bury Grandad.
7.
This is all so new to me,
Death, grieving, hurt,
And I am drawn too deeply into it,
Too susceptible to pain,
Not the rock I want to be,
Strong, daring, bold,
And whilst I can`t remember them
All my old hurts remain.
8. Wasted Space
Endless rubbish,
Written for a purpose,
Impossible to read as such.
My apologies.
9.
I`m here now,
In his house,
Grandad`s house,
Grandma lives here still.
In the car,
As we drove
[headed here]
Ilse spoke more than I.
"It`s raining
Up in Wales"
She would say
"But it`s so nice here"
"So sunny,
warm, lov`ly...
Alan says:
It`s raining in wales."
Arriving
here I saw
the sunshine
and was glad for grandpa.
Something is looking up for him at last.
10.
These are not happy moments but precious ones,
To be treasured with the good.
11.
Dearest Grandad,
It`s Leo here, Alan`s Bach,
Your beloved grandson.
I`m going home now,
Having been to visit cwmllynfell,
And our family were out in force.
It was nice to see you,
Though time showed on your face,
And, I must say, you did look frail
But I noticed that you had put some weight on
(Which is good!)
As I carried you to the funeral pyre.
Goodbye Grandad,
Yours forever,
Leo.
12.Happy times mis-remembered
Caernavon castle held such joy
for me as a little boy.
You`d lead me alwars by the hand
and try to keep me on the ground,
saving me from climbing walls,
averting cuts from nasty falls;
And showing me the arrow slits
From when Weslhmen shot at picks.
Then you`d show me with some glee
The holes from which they used to pee
on Englishmen far down below
standing in
the yellow snow.
13.
Isn`t it strange how strangers
Sit on trains pretending
To be alone?
The stranger sitting next to me
Seems to me familiar,
But is she?
I doubt it.
[Author`s note: She was! Haha! What are the chances? Took me ages to say hello though!]
14.
Trowbridge,
More bus stop
Than Train Station.
A smart man gets off,
Wearing black, briefcase in hand,
How important! Pha!
Off again! Into the dark,
And so I am alone again,
Looking back at myself,
And the stranger next to me,
in the darkened window. |
|
