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Samson Simmons Poem
on my six
the village faded in my past
when at last i walked through the gate
for the final time
neither of us remained the same
as we were in the days of my coming of age
back then the colours were brighter
our laughter was lighter
with all my possessions on my back
in my Dad's old navy pack
i paused at the end of the road by the wall
which today is not so tall
as it was then
i stared at the old rough stones
long ago discoloured and beaten
by wind and rain
to the left the bend curved right
and out of my sight
a couple hundred yards down
where when we were all young
we sneaked a peek when
colin flarety was "courting"
the miller twins from across the field
to the right straight and true
narrowing down to a pin point in the far distance
shadowed by the morning mist
that hung heavy
after the night's storm
hefting my Dad's sea bag
i headed left
maybe just to see if anything had changed.
Copyright © Samson Simmons | Year Posted 2020
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Samson Simmons Poem
the table by the window
we sat and talked for hours
around the old table
that he built of scraps from the past
“it may not look good
but it will be here long past
you and me.”
we could see beyond the paint
on the walls and the
creaking floors
leading down the darkened halls.
we could see ourselves again
as we were back then
devoid of the sadness
that tore us apart
back in the time
when we were what we were meant to be
he my Father and me his son
back to when we first begun.
we talked about the old folks
and the garden
and the river
and of God
the giver
of all things.
we were not just kin
we were friends.
as the new day
begins
we begin to slip away
from our bonds tying each to the other
remembering how we really were…
and now him dead and me dying.
the table is still standing there
in some forgotten timeless room
waiting for those left of us
to pull up a chair.
Copyright © Samson Simmons | Year Posted 2020
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Details |
Samson Simmons Poem
she gave him December roses
as red as red can be
they came from some hot little world
from far across the seas
they lay bright and sunny
atop the frozen ground
not a single word was uttered
except one small wailing sound
from deep within a small gray bird
as it hopped 'round and 'round
from where he lay
deep in the earth
he looked up at her mournful face
and wished there been time
for one final embrace
Copyright © Samson Simmons | Year Posted 2020
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