Generations



the small boy, stands with reverence in the old man's shed
mesmerised by bits and bobs, air laden with tobacco scent
he watches the fall of silver hair still left on a tired head
awestruck he listens,glorys and stories of a life well spent

by the clock is a picture, a woman possessed of a beauty rare
a smile on his age worn face, as when the wedding bells rang
he tells the boy of finding love while tea and cake they share
listening to the record playing forever, songs that she sang

a grumpy voice greets the boy saying “do you know you're late”
he's not cross really, just a tad worried, it's for the lad's sake.
Endlessly pacing up and down until he heard the garden gate
for he promised he would show him how paper planes to make

a hand in his cardigan pocket as the old man pretends to nap,
reveals a matchbox, a small gift for the boy, seen only by a few
inside lies his personal treasure, a badge from his old army cap
he smiles as young eyes light up, for he was once a small boy too

there is only now

pay no heed to the spurious clock
as it spirits the hours from the day
it's numbers and hands that mock
with a sly intent the eyes to betray

feast on sweet memories of the past
strain not to see over future's prow
bind yourself to the present's mast
and tenderly grasp there's only now

think not of time as fine falling sand
or the endless draw of a river's flow
it changes not as ruby embers fanned
but infinite slices neither fast or slow

yesterday has been and gone so fast
to see tomorrow time can not allow
seize this moment for it will not last
fleeting instants ,there is only now

cold is coming

gone now are the skies of starling flocks,
bereft purple heather,once hidden rocks
all know cold is coming.
Time travel ritual of altering the clocks

no more garb with summer colour bright,
days that sooner surrender to the night,
feel that cold is coming
lost bottom drawer scarves pulled tight.

Arboreal cats cradle, leaves on the ground
drab brick walls by dusted crystal crowned
hear that cold is coming.
Boots on ice blanket grass, footprint sound.

Surprise solar displays from a waning sun,
revealed diamond silk traps already spun,
see that cold is coming.
For an expectant land winter has begun.