Silence Poem by Bill Smith

Twist of key, glance behind a lovely day for sure
Junk mail screams Cancer, Help us find a Cure
Double Glazing, Credit Cards destined for the bin
No word from those far away, bends and reels them in
Door shuts on the world outside, feels dizzy lets it pass
Kaleidoscope colours bloom, sunlit through stained glass
Coat hung on oak hat stand, tartan trolley parked
Greeted by the silence where company once barked
Small white and half a pint, Tripe and onion one
Hands full, hungry now, best get dinner on

Wakes with a start from peaceful sleep an afternoon passed by
Mouse scurries along skirting board, catches the bleary eye
Clock strikes no to heatings arms another hour to wait
Last of the coal slumbers black, lay ready in the grate
Passing time from meal to meal chat show through to soap
No regrets a life led full yet left alone to cope
Promises of long ago betrayed by men in suits
Pride the crutch to carry on chipping at labours fruits

Silent screen flickers to imaginary street
Soup cools in a bowl, no energy to eat
Cold wind blows through front door gap rattling the panes
Stares at the pictures mantle stood searching for their names
Stone cold tea in cup props letters from the bank
Faint recall, the chap in uniform, wasn’t he called Frank
60-watt bulb suspended hangs a without shade
Chill down the back, steps over a grave
Shuffles to the kitchen on carpet worn threadbare
Clothes ceiling hung, cat sleeps on the stair
Looks at pale moon rising through nicotine stained nets
Looking for an omen for tomorrows each way bets
Tap drips to porcelain white, tea leaves hug the drain
Rumbles through the jumble where the memories remain
Faces, places, names times merging into one
Arthritic fingers turn the tap, puts the kettle on
Value tea bag in the cup Ginger Nut to dunk
Frank? brother? was he the one, the one always drunk?
Kettle whistles on the stove, steam rises to fall
Black damp blisters through on once cream coloured wall
Teaspoon plays a tune as white mixes to brown
Lost in time the eddy swirls round, round, and round
Back with the living, a twist to highland mist
A special treat, just a nip, a tilt through shaking wrist

Silence broken by laboured breath, wooden hills to climb
Picture springs to opaque eyes a memory sublime
Pin striped suit arm in arm she dressed in white
Small bouquet and sunny smiles, a switch to memories light
A wedding day moons ago sepia bound in time
To die on foreign shore, Frank chopped down in his prime
In darkness lay wrapped warm secure no one to see or hear
The silence disturbed nightly by a gentle rolling tear