Even to myself I avoid to show
My begging for all kinds of troubles to go
Far away, so far where they’d never be seen
Then I’d feel relieved, on your sill I’d lean
Looking at your garden and the green field
On a clear day when the Coombe Hill
Becomes visible, maybe we’ll have a stroll
And as usual, a drizzling rain would fall
On our way back, we return soaking wet
And the sun peeks out just before it sets
Switch the telly on, what’s the news they tell
Nothing good for today, and tomorrow as well
So we’re off to the garden, to smell the flowers
Under the spell of the magic hours..
Once upon a time, as the fable goes
There were us, your dog and my cat
Behind the fences the big outside was
Suggesting the stuff that we used to get
Pharmacies, hospitals, vets, hairdressers
Asda, the Co-op, your long earrings
Your roses and hyacinths, Uniglo dresses
The golden rings on your fingers
Your laughter when you threw your head back
And we drank wine talking about
Everything until we blurred into black
And the dawn was close to come out
Bottles of Lucozade, pods and sensors
Your blood glucose measures and pills
Your vapes, your questions and my answers
The photos you took from Coombe hill
I can't seem to put it into consistency
Into a somewhat coherent narrative
Can’t glue back the broken vase in subsistency
It seems like forever preparative
Here’s the apple tree in the sunset rays
With the apples down on the ground
Once upon a time, as the fable says
There were us, but we can’t be found.
We were crossing the green field
Picking up the wild flowers
We drank the cheap wine
Spoke most beautiful words
Once there on a Coombe Hill
We were walking for hours
And our lives seemed so fine
In the best of the worlds
Then we passed the old tombstones
With names undistinguished
We climbed up the Coombe Hill
Looked down from birds fly
Over there was a home
With a garden relinquished
-“Is it occupied still?”
But you didn’t reply..
Candles and nightlights flickering bright,
blackout curtains shutting out the moonlight.
Snuggle down cosy with blankets tight,
perhaps the war will end to-night.
Dripping setting from Sunday's roast,
spread so thick on Monday's toast.
Meat bones simmer on the old gas ring,
Pa's homemade soup,the 'real thing'.
Paper chains cut and glued,
beer in glass bottles brewed.
Christmas puddings with threepenny bits,
the Meccano present made to fit.
Sunday school outings upto Coombe hill,
my first ever train ride,so quite a thrill.
Walks over corn fields to the Bugle Horn,
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn.
A weekly soak in a round tin bath,
towelling off by a fire in the hearth.
A viewpoint from childhood scene,
growing up at sixteen,Beech green.
CANDLES&NIGHTLIGHTS
Candles and nightlights flickering bright,
blackout curtains shutting out the moonlight.
Snuggle down cosy with blankets tight,
perhaps the war will end to-night.
Dripping setting from Sunday's roast,
spread so thick on Monday's toast.
Meat bones simmer on the old gas ring,
Pa's homemade soup,the 'real thing'.
Paper chains cut and glued,
beer in glass bottles brewed.
Christmas puddings with threepenny bits,
the Meccano present made to fit.
Sunday school outings upto Coombe hill,
my first ever train ride,so quite a thrill.
Walks over corn fields to the Bugle Horn,
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn.
A weekly soak in a round tin bath,
towelling off by a fire in the hearth
CANDLES&NIGHTLIGHTS
Candles and nightlights flickering bright,
blackout curtains shutting out the moonlight.
Snuggle down cosy with blankets tight,
perhaps the war will end to-night.
Dripping setting from Sunday's roast,
spread so thick on Monday's toast.
Meat bones simmer on the old gas ring,
Pa's homemade soup,the 'real thing'.
Paper chains cut and glued,
beer in glass bottles brewed.
Christmas puddings with threepenny bits,
the Meccano present made to fit.
Sunday school outings upto Coombe hill,
my first ever train ride,so quite a thrill.
Walks over corn fields to the Bugle Horn,
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn.
A weekly soak in a round tin bath,
towelling off by a fire in the hearth
Candles & nightlights
flickering bright
blackout curtains
shutting out the moonlight
snuggle down cosy
blankets tight
perhaps
the war will end to-night
dripping setting
from Sunday's roast
spread so thick
on Monday's toast
meat bones simmer
..on the old gas ring
Pa's homemade soup
the 'real thing'
paper chains cut & glued
beer
in glass bottles brewed
Christmas puddings
with threepenny bits
the Meccano present
made to fit
Sunday school outings
upto Coombe hill
my first ever train ride
so quite a thrill
Walks over corn fields
to the Bugle Horn
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn
A weekly soak
in a round tin bath
towelling off
by open fire in the hearth.
a viewpoint from childhood
seen
growing up at
number sixteen Beech green
Year Posted 2012
CANDLES and NIGHTLIGHTS
Candles and nightlights flickering bright,
blackout curtains shutting out the moonlight.
Snuggle down cosy with blankets tight,
perhaps the war will end to-night.
Dripping setting from Sunday's roast,
spread so thick on Monday's toast.
Meat bones simmer on the old gas ring,
Pa's homemade soup,the 'real thing'.
Paper chains cut and glued,
beer in glass bottles brewed.
Christmas puddings with threepenny bits,
the Meccano present made to fit.
Sunday school outings upto Coombe hill,
my first ever train ride,so quite a thrill.
Walks over corn fields to the Bugle Horn,
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn.
A weekly soak in a round tin bath,
towelling off by a fire in the hearth.
A viewpoint from childhood scene,
growing up at sixteen,Beech green.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2012
CANDLES&NIGHTLIGHTS
Candles and nightlights flickering bright,
blackout curtains shutting out the moonlight.
Snuggle down cosy with blankets tight,
perhaps the war will end to-night.
Dripping setting from Sunday's roast,
spread so thick on Monday's toast.
Meat bones simmer on the old gas ring,
Pa's homemade soup,the 'real thing'.
Paper chains cut and glued,
beer in glass bottles brewed.
Christmas puddings with threepenny bits,
the Meccano present made to fit.
Sunday school outings upto Coombe hill,
my first ever train ride,so quite a thrill.
Walks over corn fields to the Bugle Horn,
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn.
A weekly soak in a round tin bath,
towelling off by a fire in the hearth
Listen to me read this poem on youtube under name ichthyschiro
Candles and nightlights flickering bright,
blackout curtains shutting out the moonlight.
Snuggle down cosy with blankets tight,
perhaps the war will end to-night.
Dripping setting from Sunday's roast,
spread so thick on Monday's toast.
Meat bones simmer on the old gas ring,
Pa's homemade soup,the 'real thing'.
Paper chains cut and glued,
beer in glass bottles brewed.
Christmas puddings with threepenny bits,
the Meccano present made to fit.
Sunday school outings upto Coombe hill,
my first ever train ride,so quite a thrill.
Walks over corn fields to the Bugle Horn,
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn.
A weekly soak in a round tin bath,
towelling off by a fire in the hearth.
A viewpoint from childhood scene,
growing up at sixteen,Beech green.
Circa vista under seen
life and spirit flow..
sublime outline forms
little hill folds down..
cross the valley bleating sheep
combs coombe the eyrie hawk..!
copyright Joe Maverick 2011
Along
a footpath,
into a wood
upon a bridleway-
across
hillock
coppices
common and coombe-
free to roam with plenty
of room
Avebury a Wiltshire village low
To windswept beacon of Ivinghoe.
Eighty-five miles,vale and hill
Wayfare freedoms,exhilarate and thrill.
Striding downs in grassy scrub
Midst trees and clumps of shrub;
Shaded lanes,gates and stiles,
Wayside pubs to rest awhile.
Overton to Wantage plain
Goring and Streatly in the rain;
Chinnor to Bledlow,in freezing chill,
To Buckmoor,Chequers and Coombe Hill.
Wendover to Hastoe through morning dew
Wigginton,Albury onto Beacon view;
Natural history and species now rare,
Time to idle or just stand and stare.
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