Reading & Writing Poetry
Stark RealityAlbert’s second marriage brought himA devoted younger wife.He bought her an ivory dress and a golden ringand promised her a dream houseof turrets and battlements.The council flat brought herthe sudden reality of life.Two stepchildren of indeterminate agewho were legally 9 (girl) and twelve (boy)but cynical beyond their years.The dream they shared brought themhope beyond the stained tea cups.But the sudden fall from gracewhen the factory closed down brought them money for whisky instead.The postman brought themletters from Social Services.Brown paper envelopes and thetermination of supplies and,ultimately, the last dream they had.
Hello R. - nice to see you here and thanks for posting.
Hiraeth is the wordthat summons up homefaster than any magic trick.It creates mountains in the mind’s eyewith trickles of stone wallsrunning down their sides.Slate roofs and rainclosing in for the day,as white washed cottages vanish.Except in my dream memoriesit never rained on Angleseyand there was cake, Bara BrithWelsh cakes hot from the griddleoozing butter. While the firecrackled in the grate.The old man dozing in the rocking chairwho was my Mam’s Taid, used togive us pennies and say“You’re home now.”
Feb.18 Dream HomeWe’ve lived in itfor 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 purposethat 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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