Getting older and slowing down pausing while the world spins round no longer planning super schemes I'm dancing slowly through my dreams. Looking back to times I've spent drinking down a whole week's rent memories flood in countless streams I'm dancing slowly through my dreams. No worries about my destiny now I know how it will be - no anxieties stored in reams I'm dancing slowly through my dreams. Getting older ain't so bad I've had a wife and been a dad life isn't always what it seems I'm dancing slowly through your dreams.
Tag: Memories
Michael Has Gone
Oh how we miss our friends who have gone. We miss them now, we always will but the memories still live on. Sometimes it's right for the suffering to leave And we who are left here alone in confusion can only grieve. My pal was forced into oblivion by mean gods but is with me still he laughs, listens, advises but never complains about his being ill. No engine he could not fix, nothing he couldn't drive sometimes his driving left me feeling quite lucky to be alive! Goodbye my friend, now at last without pain, I won't have a fifty year friendship quite like ours again. Oh how we miss those friends who have gone. We miss them now, we always shall but the memories will live on. Funeral - September 2010
Looking Back
So - nearing eighty is it now the time To embrace the flashbacks that plague? With brain cells depleting the race is on to view memories of past passions and rage. Your triumphant deals, and bested foes, moonlight walks, or bright suns above. Of parents now gone, or your babies cries, or friends not told that they had your love. You reflect about long silent relatives those that rallied to any crisis, you saw your children's endeavours leading them to punt on the Cam or the Isis. Perhaps you've not done too badly You have survived when others failed You kept turning up as and when needed And may finally have your depression nailed. Is this the sole value of old ageing? Just to feel your inner self slowing Concentrating only on where you have been instead of where you could be going.
September Memories
As an onshore wind moves the trees
With the smell of seaweed on the breeze
Memories return just as they please.
Ah September!
Past holidays return with a leap
Spent here in Autumn when quite cheap
So exciting he couldn't sleep
In September.
A young boy not yet seven
Knee deep in mud soft and even
Thinks he's just arrived in Heaven
Great September.
This is the best place he ever saw
There's freedom here - no playground law
And he doesn't even know he's poor -
It's just September.
Years later and this man reflects
On life and love, wealth and sex
And why life now is so complex
Not September.
When he can walk this beach no more
And journeys to a higher shore
He will meet those pleasures gone before
Again September.
The river Blackwater in Essex is in my soul. I was taken to Mersea Island every Autumn when a child and still sail in the area now in my middle seventies. One bright Blackwater morning while walking on the foreshore this poem came to me.
British Reserve
Give in man - go on give in!
Let's drop the stiff reserve,
OK, so you are British - but give
Your children all they deserve.
Wrap your arms about your kids,
Do it often, good, and tight.
Hug them in the morning
Instead of just goodnight.
This lets them know you love them,
And you always will.
Too soon they will be gone from you,
Over life's nearest hill.
But if they carry memories
Of frequent hugs with you,
They'll walk on firm, emotional paths
And see their problems through.
Go on man, just hug them.
Now, this very instant.
Gather them close before
They are gone and too far distant.
As I See Things 