For Sale - Sold as Seen

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Sat, 21 Nov 2015
  • 2647 reads
10 comments
 
The yard full of clutter – an old sink, 
a has-been lavatory cistern, to ‘come in handy
one of these days’.  An oil can, various lids
from aerosols of gold paint in a cacophony 
of varying variations of a theme...
 
another one of Dad’s crazy schemes –
drove Mum to an early grave.  Cherubs –
once graced the Sistine Chapel...his spiel;
in reality plaster-of-Paris lookalikes –
fashioned in his workshop – yesterday.
 
The down-pipe’s leaking, again, the gate
still squeaks...the willow’s been denuded...
pollarded – cut off...axed in its prime...bare, 
stark, prime evil, like some kind of monster 
making a V sign at a bruised, February sky...
 
Upstairs, in the loo – still the same 
Hint of Pine Air-wick, and a toilet roll needs 
refreshing.  My parent’s room – a stark
reminder of how booze ruins lives;
 
Mum looks disapprovingly down from the wall –
a glad to be rid of him look in her eyes. 
 
In ‘our’ room, pleated school skirts – 
still in Sketchley Cleaners' bags...
three sizes ago, a hockey stick, bearing
the scars of the KLG playing fields...
now a housing estate, north of Kingston.
 
Through the window – Dad’s shirt, 
blowing on the line; a no-hope angel 
desperate to take flight.  Our old swing –
still creaks, rocks to and fro on the breeze...
in time to the ghosts of children past
and the timbre of their laughter.
 
Plump up the pillow on my sister’s bed...
old habits die hard; a plume of dust, settles, 
the residue offering itself to the sky like a cloud, 
the more I stare dissolving to nothingness, while 
I long for arms that held me once, to hold me again....
arms that were never really there, anyway.
Certificate 12
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Philosophy
Love

Comments

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

Brings the era to life, or its trappings to memory. The longing for hugs is always there, whether the home be relatively poor, or rich, and whether we have them or don't, the value of them remains clearly felt. Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

So well put, Rhiannon, and every word, so true.

Thank you.

Tina

 

Submitted by Denzella on

I echo Rhiannon, Rich or poor the longing for hugs is always there.

Moya

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

So good to hear from you, Moya.  Yes...what a difference a  hug makessmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by loquaciousicity on

Such partings, always a time of melancholy reflection..

Splendid!

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, Terry...and aren't they just?

Tina

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Home, full of the familiar but not always what we would want it to be.  Love the depth of feelings you evoke here.

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, so very much. smiley

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

 

memories come out of hiding when we look for them, but often they are never what they seem, just a fading glimpse of what we want them to be.

A haunting poem indeed Tina.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Your words are a poem in themselves, Jenny, and so, so true.

Tina