The grey dawn emerged
as a background to the day,
she put on her grey dress
and white bonnet.
The grey goose in the yard
was silent and her
grey sleek beautiful cat
silently approached.
Her hair was grey too
and her grey shoes
Serviceable.
But she was not grey.
Unpretentious, calm, growing older
in peace, she was nonjudgmental,
unassuming, thoughtful.
When the battle came,
the grey uniforms, stained red and then brown,
she was a strong, unobtrusive shadow,
passing with strips of torn cotton
for bandages and bandages of words
of comfort to bind the wounds.
Her colours were but
nuances of resilience
in the face of tragedy.
I take part in a creative writing group and am inspired to record some of my writings
Tuesday, 18 March 2014
Tuesday, 4 March 2014
The Old Piano
There is a space in the room
unfilled by music and
an instrument , an investment
waiting to bloom.
The classes would be
a chore for the present
an investment resented.
The hours of practice
instead of kicking a ball
Made to study
large keys for fingers so small
And now the old piano
stood patiently waiting
and he had finished hating
Music now was his core
His parents now dead
perhaps his kindred
might learn and be fed.
An instead of resentment
He mourned.
If you like this poem please make a small donation to
www.purplefieldproductions.com
unfilled by music and
an instrument , an investment
waiting to bloom.
The classes would be
a chore for the present
an investment resented.
The hours of practice
instead of kicking a ball
Made to study
large keys for fingers so small
And now the old piano
stood patiently waiting
and he had finished hating
Music now was his core
His parents now dead
perhaps his kindred
might learn and be fed.
An instead of resentment
He mourned.
If you like this poem please make a small donation to
www.purplefieldproductions.com
Happiness
Happiness
Happiness is toasting scones upon a rainy day
Or missing someone very much when they have gone away
Happiness is sitting when the children are in bed
Or butter, thick, upon a slice of fresh and crusty bread.
Happiness is walking through a field of new laid snow
Or just thinking, " Well, I'm me" and being happy so
Happiness is beiong glad and having lots to do
And loving someone very much and knowing they love you
Happiness is coming home to have a cup of tea
And seeing children's eye light up, and bathing someone's knee.
Happiness is listening while little children sing
Happiness,Oh Happiness is such a quiet thing
Its living and its having power to strive
It isn't just existing - it's knowing you're alive.
Pat Morris
If you like this poem please make a small donation to
The Taunton Meeting Renewal fund at
www.westsomersetquakers.org.uk
Happiness is toasting scones upon a rainy day
Or missing someone very much when they have gone away
Happiness is sitting when the children are in bed
Or butter, thick, upon a slice of fresh and crusty bread.
Happiness is walking through a field of new laid snow
Or just thinking, " Well, I'm me" and being happy so
Happiness is beiong glad and having lots to do
And loving someone very much and knowing they love you
Happiness is coming home to have a cup of tea
And seeing children's eye light up, and bathing someone's knee.
Happiness is listening while little children sing
Happiness,Oh Happiness is such a quiet thing
Its living and its having power to strive
It isn't just existing - it's knowing you're alive.
Pat Morris
If you like this poem please make a small donation to
The Taunton Meeting Renewal fund at
www.westsomersetquakers.org.uk
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