Albert’s second marriage brought him A devoted younger wife. He bought her an ivory dress and a golden ring and promised her a dream house of turrets and battlements.
The council flat brought her the sudden reality of life. Two stepchildren of indeterminate age who were legally 9 (girl) and twelve (boy) but cynical beyond their years.
The dream they shared brought them hope beyond the stained tea cups. But the sudden fall from grace when the factory closed down brought them money for whisky instead.
The postman brought them letters from Social Services. Brown paper envelopes and the termination of supplies and, ultimately, the last dream they had.
We’ve lived in it for more than fifty years, an earthly feet-on-the-ground home.
Now the dream has faded, the home remains, rooms the same. The garden misses you as much as I do, Your touch, your strength of purpose that made this dream home what it was.
Your absence shows in the silver webs covering slowly rusting tools lying idle in your workshop.
4 comments:
Stark Reality
Albert’s second marriage brought him
A devoted younger wife.
He bought her an ivory dress and a golden ring
and promised her a dream house
of turrets and battlements.
The council flat brought her
the sudden reality of life.
Two stepchildren of indeterminate age
who were legally 9 (girl) and twelve (boy)
but cynical beyond their years.
The dream they shared brought them
hope beyond the stained tea cups.
But the sudden fall from grace
when the factory closed down
brought them money for whisky instead.
The postman brought them
letters from Social Services.
Brown paper envelopes and the
termination of supplies and,
ultimately, the last dream they had.
Hello R. - nice to see you here and thanks for posting.
Hiraeth is the word
that summons up home
faster than any magic trick.
It creates mountains in the mind’s eye
with trickles of stone walls
running down their sides.
Slate roofs and rain
closing in for the day,
as white washed cottages vanish.
Except in my dream memories
it never rained on Anglesey
and there was cake, Bara Brith
Welsh cakes hot from the griddle
oozing butter. While the fire
crackled in the grate.
The old man dozing in the rocking chair
who was my Mam’s Taid, used to
give us pennies and say
“You’re home now.”
Feb.18 Dream Home
We’ve lived in it
for more than fifty years,
an earthly feet-on-the-ground home.
Now the dream has faded,
the home remains, rooms the same.
The garden misses you as much as I do,
Your touch, your strength of purpose
that made this dream home what it was.
Your absence shows in the silver webs
covering slowly rusting tools
lying idle in your workshop.
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