As evenings shorten,

Light's orange glow

Glints from the eyes

Of tall buildings.

Swallows gather,

Dark beads restrung -

Looped above roads,

Their twitterings

Reproach the setting sun.

We will go soon,

We will go soon—

And I, whose infancy

Was sun and flowers,

Watch like a child

Surprised by adult grief,

Confused by sudden tears—

Left with enduring sadness.

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Early today, close by the border of night's dream, a thrush sang :

Through thinning darkness before dawn I heard his song repeat.

Insistently he sang, scattering remnants of soft sleep,

Commanding me, "Awake, awake."

The moon hung full and white above dark trees

And he had come this time, clear voiced on frosty air,

Above snowdrops massed where in the snow he'd fed :

So thankful then for meagre gifts.

Now, on season's cusp, he has returned to claim domain

And share this benediction to the Spring.

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             (For Mae)   

When we were neighbours—how I loved those days!

I'm sorry dear, who are you? What's your name?

It's strange how memories become a haze.

The trouble with this place, it's like a maze :

The rooms and corridors all look the same—

When we were neighbours—how I loved those days.

They say that I must live here now always—

My son has sold the house, it's such a shame—

It's strange how memories become a haze.

I'm glad you called, I'm sorry you can't stay—

The mealtimes here can sometimes be a strain—

When we were neighbours - how I loved those days.

I'm often in my room with meals on trays,

Things are more tricky now than when I came,

It's strange how memories become a haze.

And here I'm stuck, abandoned, left to gaze

As the old fools outside play mindless games;

When we were neighbours how I loved those days—

It's strange how memories become a haze.

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    (In memory : L.R.G.)

I.      Carer

His gate is old :

Mossed timbers shrink and crack—

The frame warps in the sun.

Fittings no longer quite align :

Strangers here would struggle—

For them the latch would stick,

Bolt stubbornly jams.

He has the knack

And knows the ways of bolt and latch :

How the pull and twist must synchronise

To let the gate swing free.

It's the same with his poor wife :

Helping to ease a tragic life

That can no more align.

...And synchronising mood and time

He helps her day unwind.

II.  Visiting

Lift doors close. Spirited up three floors

I've little time to seem composed,

Fix a smile, or still an aching heart.

Past wards of silent, pale faced men,

Where i.v. drips and monitors

Narrow the focus of each world,

I find you panning out the day.

I bring thin news and plump it out

With awkward jokes and memories.

You close your eyes and seem to sleep,

While I am left to sit and stare

And think how life can be unfair

To someone who just gave too much.

Nurses perform their cheerful tasks,

Breaking the silence we have shared;

I tell you I'll be back tonight,

You smile goodbye but your eyes plead :

Briefly alight with thoughts of home.

III.      Post Surgery

Your wandering hand confirms

Tight oxygen mask and tubes—

Sparking  old memories.

Behind closed eyes you're airborne now—

Life moves you on a different plane—

Past silent watchers deep in thought

Your bed moves to a wartime roar.

The Halifax makes its sluggish climb

As we reflect upon shared lives,

Unaware that you can fly

Beyond the Rubicon of sight.

IV.      De Profundis

A night of storms :

Waking to an orange glow,

A lively wind and everything washed clean.

After the call,

That high speed drive seems futile now.

Along the route, so many signs of death :

Foxes, pheasants—

A wing still beating with the traffic's rush—

As if a life could hang by just a thread.

Later you looked relaxed, at peace—

That grimace lost to lasting sleep.

Unselfconscious now of clutched bouquet—

A pose in life you would find risible.

And, from the window,

First trembling signs of spring :

Sunshine on trees and hills,

A flier's sky set blue : immutable.

V.       Afterwards

Walking alone is such cold comfort.

Below the stunted hedge dry leaves blow.

Small stirrings : a primrose flower unfurls,

The rooks work noisily in barren trees,

Whilst high above, dark clouds gather like thoughts.

There is a stillness now, expectancy :

My heart feels old, but not this sense of spring.

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