January years ago, confused far away I was with the cold.
Landed in Bristol on a snowy airport, as snowed were the meadows and frosted my mind.
A trip to say hello and goodbye to a beloved one,
taking my hand, she closed her fading eyes into her last sigh. I saw the dark face of life
turning into the beauty of an angel flying.
Sad and freezing with a bag full of mixed feelings, somebody took us to Norton St Philip in Somerset, just to have some fun. My husband and I were surprised.
Feeling blue we were, but soon the George Inn changed our sorrow into happiness.
Family shared moments for the history of our lives, photos in the white snow for a new album, nice food and a toast with white wine in the George Inn, made my trip to England a especial memory to be remembered forever in my heart.
historic George Inn
~elegance in Somerset~
locked deep in my soul
Categories:
somerset, adventure, blessing, emotions, england,
Form: Haibun
(etymology of a surname: Larcombe)
somewhere in the deepest dark of Somerset,
was a secret cumb, I know of not yet
where ancients did note
that many a Larke would wing,
for food,
to brood,
and sing
in those times a cumb was understated
with trees aplenty in it's forest,
where insects
unabated,
invite the Larke
fated
to dance with them as their guest.
as such, much gratiated,
the Larke engages in a courtship thrill,
throwing it's voice to dating,
in hope of mating,
and is satiated
by the success of its trill.
then men came to this place,
farming and deforesting,
such that the Larke could not sing,
leaving only space and doom,
and yet men called themselves
"of the Larke Cumb"
'tis still a mystery, where this might be,
twixt tarmac, concrete, or brick maybe,
but it sealed the Larke' s fate,
closing it's garden gate,
as such, was a sad sick twist really
Categories:
somerset, environment, journey, nature, society,
Form: Free verse
Back then she was singing the blues,
In a smaller club where the sunset-
Splashed the walls in various hues,
On a plummy street called Somerset.
I was introduced to her backstage,
In that far away, long ago place,
Before she had become all the rage,
With her jet-setter's renowned face.
Her voice then was as liquid gold,
And eyes reflected the bright lights,
And her song a melancholy tale told,
Of her dream which had taken flight!
All motion in the club would cease,
Anytime the blue lady in red sang
Her beautiful, musical masterpiece,
In a voice which, like bells, rang!
Now, in the still of a pastel dawn,
My memories wander back to Somerset-
Of those happy, sun days quite gone,
And the blues song I cannot forget!
Categories:
somerset, blue, culture, music, people,
Form: Rhyme