(Just a particularly disturbing thought and its consequence).
News of your death will hasten my demise.
We always thought that stress would be the problem
and tried to keep our feelings on an even plane,
each helping the other until contention came knocking,
knowing when to back down to let the ripples quietly disperse,
sharing our triumphs like a chocolate biscuit
and facing the challenges like mountaineers,
one each end of the fraying rope, trusting the other.
But now I’m told that you have gone,
swiftly, with no warning
leaving but your fading whispered echo
“I’m sorry”.
Yes, news of your death brings such desolation
and it will kill me.
© Graham Sherwood 1/2013
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Saturday, January 19, 2013
No Echo
(Commentary on fallen idols and discraced heroes).
I can no longer recognize my gods from demons,
and heroes too, now sadly hang askew
their bowing heads from dusty peeling frames,
like sepia outlaws of the wildest west
glare passively over my confusion.
Memories depart like broken friendships,
fractured and unrecognisable, vague as strangers
who cannot look me in the eye,
or offer simple kindnesses unbidden
but steer wide passage by my perplexed stare.
© Graham Sherwood 1/2013
I can no longer recognize my gods from demons,
and heroes too, now sadly hang askew
their bowing heads from dusty peeling frames,
like sepia outlaws of the wildest west
glare passively over my confusion.
Memories depart like broken friendships,
fractured and unrecognisable, vague as strangers
who cannot look me in the eye,
or offer simple kindnesses unbidden
but steer wide passage by my perplexed stare.
© Graham Sherwood 1/2013
Friday, January 04, 2013
The Man and the Willow
(Fine thoughts whilst coppicing a willow).
The boy climbed warily amongst the branches of the tree
She, his mother asked him what he was doing
I must cut a stick, for all boys need a stick
And what will you do with it, she enquired
I will slay the bears that live in the forest.
The young man climbed swiftly, ape-like into the tree
She, his wife asked him why he was up the tree
I must cut two sticks, for my son and I
Why do you each need a stick, she laughed
We are going to hunt the bears that live in the forest
The man perched the ladder carefully between the branches of the tree
His wife shouted, be careful, you’re not as young as you were
I must cut five sticks for my grandsons and me
Why do you need so many sticks, she frowned
There are many bears in the forest to hunt
The old man sat in the chair and watched his small boys scale the tree
He shouted to cut only the strongest straightest sticks
You must cut four, one for each of you
What about a stick for you too Grandfather, they called
We still need you to show us where the bears hide in the forest.
The four young men sat in the tree, motionless as crows,
Each with a freshly cut, strong, straight, stick
The eldest holding an extra stave
None looked out toward the forest and its bears
All stared glumly at the empty garden chair
© Graham Sherwood 01/2013
The boy climbed warily amongst the branches of the tree
She, his mother asked him what he was doing
I must cut a stick, for all boys need a stick
And what will you do with it, she enquired
I will slay the bears that live in the forest.
The young man climbed swiftly, ape-like into the tree
She, his wife asked him why he was up the tree
I must cut two sticks, for my son and I
Why do you each need a stick, she laughed
We are going to hunt the bears that live in the forest
The man perched the ladder carefully between the branches of the tree
His wife shouted, be careful, you’re not as young as you were
I must cut five sticks for my grandsons and me
Why do you need so many sticks, she frowned
There are many bears in the forest to hunt
The old man sat in the chair and watched his small boys scale the tree
He shouted to cut only the strongest straightest sticks
You must cut four, one for each of you
What about a stick for you too Grandfather, they called
We still need you to show us where the bears hide in the forest.
The four young men sat in the tree, motionless as crows,
Each with a freshly cut, strong, straight, stick
The eldest holding an extra stave
None looked out toward the forest and its bears
All stared glumly at the empty garden chair
© Graham Sherwood 01/2013
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