While We All Remember Them.

Florence wears her poppy with pride.
Bloody Mary at the ready ,
fag a dangle from painted lips,
burgeoning breasts child bearing hips.
All a wobble; she waits for the last post.
Lips a tremble; as she drinks a silent toast.

Her eyes and demeanour belie her pain the most.
An orphan of war; his body unfound.
Buried deep beneath foreign ground.
For peace he fought and lost his life,
then suicide tore away his grieving wife.

Alone, eyes all a puddle, she stands. Two minutes never brings them back. Silently clasping her shaking hands.

While, we all remember them.

Do you think my attempt is too fickle for such a poignant rememberance? Leave me a comment its good to talk.

Thanks to the artist of Florence who holds full copyright, giffy for use of tumbling animation. Both poem and poppies are my own.

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Shed No Tears.

Shed not a tear when I be gone,
Don’t wet your cheeks for me.
I’m in the ink you write with
That you can not seem to see.

I sit beside you daily,
as you go about your life.
Watching out for trouble
I try to ward off strife.

I whisper secret stories
In your ear for you to write.
I infiltrate your thoughts
When you put out the light.

So there is no need to feel lonely
Or to wander there in gloom
For I am in every corner
Of each and every room.

Colleen and Ronavan prompted with belief/believe thank you both.

I resurrected this poem because it fits perfectly, i wrote it for an author who was grieving and said she could no longer  write. It now fits me as the words my Dad would say to me when I doubt myself.  If we just believed in ourselves we could achieve anything. Leave a comment, place a word let me know what it was you heard.

I Want To Turn The Clock Back.

I want to turn the clock back … to before you went away,

To get the chance to tell you, and beg of you to stay.

I want to turn the clock, to face against the wall

To hope that the sickle, this time, fails to fall.

 

I would cradle your tiny body and together we would sleep,

Beneath a comfy blanket with booties on your feet.

You would recognise me by the noises that I make,

The songs I’d be singing while I baked for you a cake.

 

The house would fill with laughter as I introduced to you,

A sister and two brothers, who would be in love with you.

They’d fight to let me hold you, and smother you in love,

You would have fitted in this family, like a hand into a glove.

 

But clocks don’t go backwards, time refuses to stand still,

Mothers can’t make it happen, we haven’t got free will.

If we did, we would have held you and never let you go,

But you got taken to a corner, of time we’ve yet to know.

 

The sun keeps on shining, as does the falling rain,

The sunflowers still blossom, though it’s not the same.

Growing up a family, with your missing name,

Is like gazing at a sunflower … through a broken pane.

 

Today, a long past memory was jogged, a never forgotten moment recalled and tears were shed; but all is just as it should be.

Only you take the blame.

Walk in the shoes of no man,
Wear no ones hat but your own.
Live inside your own daydream,
For this life is your only home.

life is to do what you want with,
It was given out pure and clean.
If then you sully and stain it
Its no good making a scene.

When time comes to be counted,
each problem you faced lay bare.
There will be no more excuses
It will be only you standing there.

Photo meme found on Facebook origin unfound as yet

Although you are gone.

Alone I wipe my tears and wonder
Will there be a day I will not cry.
For you’re in every raindrop
That falls down from the sky.

I find you betwixt the pages
of a book we used to share.
In our favorite tea shop
You often took me there.

The fun we once had together
Now my hand you can not clasp.
Illness took you from us
Tore you from our grasp.

Always we’ll remember so
Daddy leave with no regret
For the love that you gave us
It taught us true respect.

Farewell Maestro

There’s a starman waiting in the sky
He’d like to come and meet us
But he thinks he’d blow our minds.
There’s a starman waiting in the sky
He’s told us not to blow it
Cause he knows it’s all worthwhile
He told me:
Let the children lose it
Let the children use it
Let all the children boogie

May this lyrical master of music rest peacefully.

My mother thought him too radical and in cahoots with the devil for her girls to listen to, my big sister ignored mother as usual and rebelled. She would hide his records so I couldn’t play them, and I could only listen through the wall that seperated our bedrooms; this made me like him even more.
School had two camps in the play ground, those who were brave and did, and the un – hip. When my daughter was of an age to put a face to the music she heard me play, she was scared of him (i think it was the pink eye).

So across the airways and sea’s, spanning the generations, Bowie went where no man before had dared to tread, changing opinions and some say the world with his radical words, music ,dress and sexuality. Today I heard him described this way:  Bowie’s open sexuality was the Gay  world’s equivalent, to Armstrongs moon walk. Both altered the world’s perception forever.
For me his music lives on.