Author Archives: grahamswords1962

Each time it happens, it happens,It happens in the same way. Embroidered filigree dried lace petals of hydrangea, So, soft. Solo fall from me, falling, and as they fall,Fall away in fine weights. Iridescent fish scales float down gently on bat wings, So, silent. And reveal a lesser me, a less me,Lessened to something thatContinue reading “Filigree”

I watched James Bulgin’s “How the Holocaust Began” – it inspired this. Every year, for O’ so many years,The perfectly manicured green fingertips appear. Clawing their way up towards the sun’s rebirth,They mark their unseen place beneath the earth. Signs of Spring, signs of things to come,Signs of things that cannot be undone. Labels, markersContinue reading “Fingertips”

In the summer of our salad days, the gods of music set the score,Life’s autumn would be marked by three times twenty and four. Standing on that doorstep, over our shoulders we glance,At all the times shared clothed in laughter, song and dance. Then, this point seemed so very, very far away,And yet, from here,Continue reading “For Caroline and Dave”

As we headed east, above our heads the sequential lights went out,One, by one, by one, until every one,Was dark. The dawn’s gloom rose, slowly, as our eyes unfurled from their beds,To behold a sight, so rare, so bright,So stark. A perfect screen of iridescence, a diamond-cut blazing foil against which,Two dimensional man-made silhouettes stood,SoContinue reading “Morning lights”

He hears me without listening,Without ears. He sees me without looking,Without eyes. He speaks to me without talking,Without a voice. But I hear him daily, feel his words about me,Not about, but around me. He looks older now, his skin pale and drying,Scrawny arms in silhouette revealing, A frame still statuesque,Even in his winter years.Continue reading “My Old Man”

The thicket is as quiet as the lace on a maid’s apron,Bauble berries drape with the same frosted lace,And from the darkness,A chorister sings. Crystal clear in the dun morning air,Louder than a church bell on Sunday,His bellows bright red and pumping,As to his blood. Soon, the sun will rise and with it,The falsetto trillContinue reading “January song”

Through the flat, glass windowpaneBlurred and stained by pearls of grey rain,Lay the once sodden beach.Which January grey deemed out of reach.No footprints written in the smooth rake of sand,That loose shifting orange strip, mere grains of land,Ironed smooth, pushed to a ridge with a lip so thin,Where the waves died, to leave a sheetContinue reading “Through a Tenby Window”

Blades of frozen emerald grass spear his feet,The earth moving in pillow soft glides,Moving him,Edging him nearer the ledgeOf a fisherman’s peg engulfed,Its steeped gulf bank, a cake of brick red clay,Again, it is that day. The suitcase swings heavily,A swaying, swollen matriarch’s womb, Pendulum against gnomon limbs,Bare legs below pleats of green and brown.AContinue reading “Breton’s Suitcase”

Mounds of soft moss,Lines of lichen,Gently plucked down,Stitched and wound with love,Sewn into place with parental care.Exquisite tailoring. A cup to hold hope,A warm bowl for the unborn to call home.Safe beneath the cover of a mother,Oval emerald jewels waited.Full of promise,Filled with hope,Perfect. A secret, a special find,Childhood mystery fed fervent mind.He felt theContinue reading “The Empty Nest”

Once waxen green skins nowhere to be seen,Now cold sun bleached to blushing shades of orange and yellow,Late harvest baubles levitating below barren branches.Berries the shade of Bordeaux wine,Remind us of past seasons and those to come.Through frames of wooden fingers, the low winter sunReveals all the things we never seeFirst a house, then gardenContinue reading “Winter baubles”