In Memoriam

a lifetime of doubt and regret. 

A poem that becomes all too familiar as I get older. 

Significant lines for me:-

Yew trees (Stoical) standing in silence,

winter robins singing - lift solemn spirits.

Flowers lying in grave beds decaying,

floral comfort for incorporeal spirits.

This is the only bit about old age I dislike, but you've given a touch of hope in your poem with the Yew tree standing for strength and robin lifting the spirit.

Thank you for sharing this. I thought your reading this poem on sound cloud really set the poem off well.

Jenny.

I have suspended my Christmas chill-out to read this contemplative and sad poem! (briefly!) But you do have the feelings of the graveyard here perfectly. We must try to remember our dead as we would hope to be remembered ourselves. It occurs to me that our 'contributions' to abctales and the internet, or books, are partly memories of us which we hope may continue to be read when we are gone. Life is always , or mostly, unfinished. You have put that sense also into your words. A good poem!

A detailed elegy, so much movement in a place of stillness - the rain sweeping, memories flickering, flowers decaying, all with your calm, measured rhythm, almost like someone pacing thoughtfully. But also

"  Yew trees (stoical), standing in silence,

winter robins singing - lift solemn spirits."

Immediately a freshness, Life, how death is part of this. Very strong images all through. And I liked very much how the repeated sounds in the first stanza (lament, monument, testament, and lament, moss, monuments, marble, testaments) come like waves of weather, or like a heartbeat of a place holding so many still hearts

Wonderful poem, so well-written.

You have certainly tightened up on this now, Paul. And the descritpion of the scene and feelings well handled and tender. Such visits should stir up good memories and hope, but it can be despressing if there is little to point well back, notr ahead.

My grandfather was a stonemason and had built a 'modern' house in the corner of the graveyard on the mountain slope above the town, with his workshop attached. When visiting we were told we could play in the graveyard, but not to be too rowdy I think! and to keep away from his interesting workshop, which curtailed our amusements rather! Rhiannon

I really enjoyed the way your words recreated in my mind the cold stillness of the cemetery. Even though you describe a place for the dead surrounded by lifeless objects, you seemed to bring it to life.

I particularly liked your line ...

buried under sand dunes of memory

which gave me the impression of memories of departed loved ones becoming greater and stronger as other more recent memories accumulate in our lives.

I hope I am making sense. 

Awesome (in the figurative sense). Very well written. This one hit me in the feelies. You have a way with words, Paul. Congrats on the cherries.

The pulse of life, the coldness of stone, the yin and yang of existence and the big sleep that beckons us all- This cemetery walk about that you take us on is filled with life amid the resting place of departed, and silent souls. It gives a comfort to know we are on this side of that veil but it also imparts a truth, our time here is short, so enjoy each moment and make that epitaph a long one. 

Hi Paul

What a lovely description of a grave yard.  Very fitting for the time of year. 

Thank you for commenting on my last post. I am having computer problems at the moment.

Another one with an audio track. Do you do that with all your poems? Maybe I just haven't noticed them all. Nice poem.