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Lola Barron Poem
Do you remember the day we met.
I knew right then we'd be together forever.
Do you remember our wedding day.
You floated towards me like an ivory angel.
Do you remember the children being born.
Small bundles of arms and legs, making our lives complete.
Do you remember our first grandchild.
Precious like our own but less responsibility.
Do you remember our retirement holiday.
Warm beaches and blue skies, just the two of us at last.
Do you remember the first time you didn't come home.
I searched and searched and found you lost and scared.
Do you remember the kind doctors at the hospital telling you not to worry.
You had me to take care of you.
Do you remember waking in the middle of the night.
Thinking there was a stranger next to you.
Do you remember my name.
Do you remember me.
Do you remember.
Copyright © Lola Barron | Year Posted 2013
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Lola Barron Poem
At Christmas as always I ate
So much that I put on some weight
New year I must try
To stay off the pie
And next year, well I just can't wait.
Copyright © Lola Barron | Year Posted 2012
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Lola Barron Poem
This Valentine's Day I shall send
To my boyfriend so not to offend.
Even though I am fond,
If he does not respond,
No worries. He's got a best friend.
Copyright © Lola Barron | Year Posted 2013
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Lola Barron Poem
Red hot summer
brown falling, white on the ground
Silvery droplets
Copyright © Lola Barron | Year Posted 2012
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Lola Barron Poem
My memories of my childhood days are few and far between,
My lucky number seven and my favourite colour green.
Banality of daily life was there for mice and men,
But nothing really matters much when at the age of ten.
I loved to ride my bicycle, go swimming in the lake.
I went to birthday parties, eating jelly, ice cream, cake.
Remember loving sausages and hating cold green beans,
But food was swapped for dating by the time I hit my teens.
By adulthood my life was marred by being mediocre,
I’d spend my time in pubs and bars, drink beer, play nine card poker.
My parents feared my devilry would not be just a blip,
My father came from Ireland so proposed I took a trip.
He said the memories that I’d have would stay with me forever.
I went. I never thought it, but my dad was very clever.
Irish whisky, Guinness, Smithwick’s, Bailey’s Irish Cream,
They tasted so divine I drank myself into a dream.
My dad no longer talks to me which isn’t very nice,
I listened to him after all and heeded his advice.
The memories that I’m laying down will always make me smile.
The legacy he left for me. The dear old Emerald Isle.
Copyright © Lola Barron | Year Posted 2013
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Lola Barron Poem
If you were here , I surely would have known, therefore you cannot be here.
Copyright © Lola Barron | Year Posted 2012
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Lola Barron Poem
Wind lashes into me, no softer than a cat o’ nine tails.
The rope swinging like a fallen halo.
Fear of death was never resident in me, I thought I knew my final resting place,
But now. What now.
If only you had not abandoned me.
Or did I abandon you. The moment I plundered his body of life breath.
She had lain with him as naked and carefree as a baby in a bath.
With honour deplete and heart wretched would not any man have done the same.
She told me I would never grace your hallowed halls,
But be consumed by eternal fire.
My chest is leadened. My heart thudding.
The rope is stilled. I look for a sign.
My only fear is of the unknown.
Copyright © Lola Barron | Year Posted 2013
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Lola Barron Poem
Special Breakfast.
She pours my tea, as so many times before.
One sugar, a little milk, just the way I like it.
I pour his tea, as so many times before.
One sugar, a little milk, just the way he likes it.
I watch her.
Greying hair. Lines around her eyes. An ageing, worn smile.
He watches me.
A touch of grey at his temples. Strong jaw. As handsome as the day we met.
If only she had had something other than me. Something of her own. A child maybe.
His crisply ironed collar. His shiny, polished shoes. How would he manage without me.
I can’t remember when it all became so stifling. So routine and mundane.
I’ve been so lucky to have the comfort and security of our marriage.
Maybe if she’d been more passionate I wouldn’t have needed anyone else.
I knew there would never be anybody else for me. He was always the one.
She sits opposite me and sips her tea.
He sits opposite me and sips his tea.
How can I tell the woman I once loved, who depends on me, that I am leaving her.
How can I tell my love, my life, that I only have a short time to live.
Copyright © Lola Barron | Year Posted 2015
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Lola Barron Poem
“I’ll bring the car round to the front, my dear.”
“The sun is out, a nice day for a drive.”
She looked at him as though she didn’t hear.
“We must be home for tea at half past five.”
He watched her as they drove, her face a frown.
Still beautiful between the anxious mask.
She murmured, “Are we going into town?”
He’d hoped she wouldn’t take the time to ask.
“We’re having tea at somewhere else today.”
“A lovely place, I know you’ll like it there.”
“They thought you even might prefer to stay.”
“I’ve had a look, I know they’ll take good care.”
“I’ll come and see you every week, you’ll see.”
She nodded. “Will we still be home for tea?”
Copyright © Lola Barron | Year Posted 2016
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Lola Barron Poem
How I love the shorter evenings, fire burning, lamps aglow.
Sunburn and dry sandwiches are seeming long ago.
The leaves already fallen and the trees completely bare,
The snow is pretty on the ground and winter's in the air.
I've had a hearty breakfast, there's a casserole to cook,
I'm watching television and I've finished off my book.
It's feeling like a holiday, I'm seeing all my friends,
The day has no beginning and I hope it never ends ................................
These long dark nights are killing me, they're making me depressed,
I hate my old pyjamas and I really must get dressed.
The fire is spitting sparks at me and burning all in sight,
The lamps remind me of a cave, please just turn on the light.
The snow seems to be daring me to venture out of door,
It's ten feet high, it's freezing cold, it's never gonna thaw.
My friends have eaten all my food and left me on my own,
I've finished every book I have, the television's blown.
I'm yearning for the summertime. I'm longing to be hot,
If ever I say winter's nice. Just shoot me on the spot.
28 January 2013.
Copyright © Lola Barron | Year Posted 2013
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