Tag Archives: memories

Looking back

Looking back, I see the overcrowded past

looping over and over,

trailing like footprints,

on the snow, stamped with regrets,

stuttering, like a garbled echo,

of what could have been.

Looking forward is uncertain

and, looking back is now looking inward.

Hide & Seek (by Russell Crabtree)

Hide & Seek

Hide and seek,

Close your eyes and do not peep;

Count slowly one to ten

All the kids run off and then,

They start to hide

Lots of fun

Even for the one who’s ” On “;

Today it’s me let me see

Where have they gone?

” Jack, it’s you I can see your shoe! “

” Bill, you’re ” dead ” I can see your leg!”

” Mary, you’re there I can see your hair! “;

All the boys and girls played,

Knew all their names

Played lots of other games,

Now nearly all caught and back to base

Still one I’ve to got to trace

Excitement built tension to the hilt

Searching for the final kid

It’s that crafty Sid;

There’s a noise down the ginnel

I must go, steady steady steady;

It’s my Mother

” Russell, your tea’s ready!”

it’s a brilliant game

Hide and Seek

(Russell Crabtree is a member of Writers Assemble – the local community development initiative of Destiny Poets)

        

Metamorphosis into Mushrooms

Memories enshrined in psyche’s tomb
Stirs within for so long;
A day full of rainy winds
Dares to get them burst
Out of the physical stone;
With a wondrous shot they
burst out into mashrooms.
Some come out Gumbadnuma
And whitish and some like
The umbrella darker brown.

•Gumbadnuma- dome like
07/09/2020NR.

Ice Cream Mozart (by Russ Crabtree)

It was great to hear the children play

To the sound of the ice cream van’s harmonic tones,

Up and down the street they ran

Excitement built at the sound

Of the painted ice cream van,

Every day it never failed

Mozart sonata in C major

Was the tune it always played,

Wolfgang would not even realise

His music composition

Made the ice cream taste so nice,

When a little girl was introduced

To Mozart’s tune and it produced

An accomplished organist and pianist,

Now how the years have flown

that little girl has grown,

and is now teaching students of her own,

Inspired by that harmonic tone

And her first taste of a

Five pence ice cream cone.

( Russell Crabtree is a member of Writers Assemble,the local community development project of Destiny Poets)

The Bridge On The River Aire

Spine
spinal,
vertebrae
marks to be read
lines in a story
in tongues
we once knew;
thread
and threads
threadbare
woven
in movement
thro’ stilness,
alive in the noise
of silence,
flow flowing
ebb ebbing,
a corpus of whom,
of when ,of how,
of where we are,
were,will be,
remaining remembered
renewed thro’ riving
purposed writhing,
reaching a not
purposed slipping
into camouflage
in its own setting;
of a particular
space and time,
now caught,
now released,
animate intense
passively resisting
our questions,
wonder,
hope.

A German Requiem

Incense-misted eyes


throats baulked with pride,


scars reddened by droplets


a hand wiping spittle


from the Breviary’s page;


Drought-mouthed elegies


to ribbons burdened


by weights of guilt,


gleaming handle farewells


accompanied by Bach


to the warrior hearts


swollen with longing,


marking time with


the limping clock;


Yearning, yearning


for visions


wrought into maps,


iron-ore mountains


forged into Tanks


and nights of gasoline


when the Sea


of Ages parted


and Schnapps was Wagner


in our heads.

Waiting for Brueghel

You yearned to see him,
longed after him as you
did in your Florentine days;
Brueghel,
as advertised
Brueghel as promised;

Amid the pristine marble
of the Royal Fine Arts
(Brussels museum of renown)
Brueghel drew them,
drew you like a moth
to immortal f(l)ame,
you exchanged more than
rubies for a promised look;

Doors wide open
staircases agape,
you hurried on up
when the laconic voice intoned,
“ the 15th,16th,&19th.centuries
will be closed for lunch ”
a momentary disappointment,
your visual caresses postponed;

At one o’clock
your heart beat faster
and faster still at a minute past,
when the doorman capitulated
down the corridors you dashed to
see blank wall after blank wall,
a veritable Tabula Rasa
they forgot to mention
that during lunch
Brueghel had also left the Casa.

A Passage Through Time

Time was forgotten

by time itself,

even those that

remembered and knew

of its harsh cadences

fell into a silent repose;

where no time

no longer mattered,

for in essence

time itself was no more,

no morrow,

no morning

mourning as it all fell silently

into an oblivion

it had created for itself

throughout its ceaseless computations

until the numbers themselves

ran out..

The Stranger, one last time.

There he sat,

in the place where he sat

the last time that we spoke

all those years ago;

And there he sat

as if he’d never left

and the years hadn’t passed us by;

” I’m still waiting for my absinthe that I’ve ordered ” ,

he ventured apropos of nothing,

his deprecating smile lingered

as he brushed some imaginary

cigar ash off the table;

A faint susurration arose

from a Greek Chorus somewhere

in the background of this

mise – en – scene ;

” Years in a desert of empty days,

years in a white nothingness,

Time itself marooned in

a white swirling fog “.

” Waiting..” the Stranger began,

my curiousity piqued,he continued,

” is the worst part of waiting “.

I concurred,which seemed

to set him at his ease,

though he glanced obsessively

at his pocket watch;

” Time flies and having flown

runs out of fuel and crashes

amidst the contretemps and vicissitudes

of our world “.

He once more glanced around for signs

of a waiter with the absinthe which he’d

ordered such a long.long time ago;

but no-one was forthcoming and

overcome by ineluctable disappointment

he rose and bidding me adieu

swept with customary insouciance

from the cafe into the busy boulevard;

as I turned my gaze from the departing stranger,

I saw the waiter arrive with a tray

bearing a singular glass..

**********************

Author’s Footnote:

The reader might care to also read ” A Stranger Returns ” -April 23 2018

and ” Encounter with a Stranger ” -October 3 2017 .

Bruxelles

Starless

we waited,

for the dawn

together,

waited to hear

the hour chime,

waited

for the earth

to slowly spin

through time and space

and time again,

together

for the dawn

we waited,

and heard the hour chime,

Starless…

Author’s biographical footnote:

I originally composed this in 2002 dedicated to C.K.whose identity will remain a mystery