Finger smudges
Dogs snot
Subtle scratches
The squeaky metal ball-bearings betrayed a sneak thief bound for the fridge
Eyes glancing from roasting conservatory air as they announced the grand arrival of friends
In and out
Coming and going
Are you in or out?
Questioned abruptly on a late summers afternoon
Those doors
Two glass doors which lead to my pink cherry tree
Planted before beloved dog was too old
Being buried
Amongst good tears
Oh.... dreadful tears
Yet again you arrived unannounced
No squeak and roll as the dumb waiter doors opened obligingly
Smiling
Leading to our grassed hundred foot of heaven
Where my little children once slid in a purple plastic elephant pool
Spraying each other giggling
Basket ball
The giggles and doors
Where are they?
Delicately stored in my fading mind
Where party hats and crackers
Showed we were having a fine old time
Where young teeth and glasses glittered
And smiles were the only barter
Lost in the world of waiting for nought
Gazing through glass
Imagining my childrens laughter
Let the good tears roll
(at least i have these lovely memories)
We have our memories, but in art we have stored perceptions and glimpses of days cherished good and bad but lived and worn as a favourite jumper.
Isn't it wonderful that seemingly ordinary things can stimulate all sorts of memories.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
memories thru a pair of glass doors indeed open a nostalgic vista.....a vivid poem