It was a cloud burst on that ominous bleak stormy day
The beck in ‘Johnny Walker’s Ghyll’ overflowed blocked our way.
Yet with speculation and tenacity we kids waded
Where ‘Back Lane’ once followed the dry limestone wall unaided.
Beyond the hedgerow sky line, the patter of many voices
Unconcerned having escape the down pour laugh and rejoices.
After all, ‘Jack Steel’s barn’ where the hay bales were still warm
From those the weary village urchins like us sheltering from the storm.
I think of such innocence today when to avoid ventures in the rain
When the village landscape portrayed through a vastly different pane.
Children without a childhood so sophisticated with mobile phone
An intellect far removed from the values of yesterday did hone.
But today still happy I am when faced with trials of growing old
That old barn my sanctuary I can enter time again is to me gold.
© Harry J Horsman 2020
Categories:
with speculation, childhood, meaningful, society,
Form: Couplet
Standing at this divergence
I reflect upon the route I have traversed
one that felt so modest
now is exceedingly knotty.
Covert thoughts, anew in my head,
propagated from the night?
Some dark niche, not yet explored
or willfully ignored?
Kept stagnant by my psyche
ignoring the silent murmur.
In me the id screams for freedom.
I am bombarded with speculation
all bright and shiny.
It ensnares my soul
like a silvery tongued gypsy
or a euphonious siren.
I scrimmage alone with this fracas
in my mind's eye.
Seeing one path but yearning for the other
If I were to imbibe from this oasis
created in seclusion
and metamorphosize into myself
I would cast off this chitinous pelt
and expose this tender flesh
I secret away.
Categories:
with speculation, confusion, love, social,
Form: Free verse
There's a war going on, but Anna is dead
There's work to be done, gossip to spread
Soldiers have been dying everyday now
But we must get the autopsy, must somehow
I heard of a man blown up in a car
But Stern is the dad from what we know so far
There is something sad in all of this
There are priorities we've seemed to miss
Since when did a bunny take top story
While our men in arms take second glory
I'm fairly certain that we'll go to Hell
Take our souls to the devil and try to sell
But poor, poor Anna, been gone nearly two days
Leaving the reporters in a mad, dash craze
To saturate media with speculation and talk
While her family must hide or be stalked
The world holds it's breath while her body is checked
Only to tell us what we knew, she was a train wreck
There is something sad in all of this
There are priorities we've seemed to miss
Since when did a junkie take top story
While our men in arms take second glory
I'm fairly certain that we'll go to Hell
Take our souls to the devil and try to sell
Categories:
with speculation, death, loss, people, social,
Form: Elegy