Roadside Bouquets

Not sure what you will make of this but am certain it won't make you laugh....

Roadside Bouquets

 

There are flowers by the roadside in bouquets

Left there to remind us of the child

That once forgot or chose not to care to look both ways

All along the central reservation

A linear strip devoid of any vegetation

Except for flowers strung together in bouquets  

Author's Note

These words were scribbled down on the back of my hand while waiting for the ambulance to leave, the sirens to clear & the blue lights to disappear from the horizon - Motorway Madness eh 08.12.2013

Reviews

[Lyn Anderson]

This stirs up particular feelings in me. I hate those damned roadside memorial things. I hate driving by and seeing teddy bears hanging on a fence where a child died. Enshrining the place of death makes me nuts - love the person as they were when they were alive. Sorry, this is just a sore spot for me, nothing to do with you, though the fact that the poem stirs up such emotions must mean it's a good one.

[Neville]

Thank you. N

[Lorry]

Always guilty reminders that we are never really in so much of a rush that we don't take our foot off the pedal at their sight. So in many ways, they are not only tragic reminders, but warnings that it is that stupidly simple as to how a life can end and others ruined, by wanting to be somewhere unimportant that little bit sooner.
Great write my friend. Powerful, potent and sometimes that is just what is required.

[Neville]

Many thanks Lorry, your visit is very much appreciated, as are the sentiments you left behind.... Neville

[Lorry]

No problem. :)

[emmajoy]

Whenever I see flowers or/and items for a family's darling left by the road or wherever, I think of the dear, sad people who put them there and the tears and trembles they must have felt when placing whatever. Heartbreaking reality, Neville, and the icy hush of imagination twisting and turning at your words. Especially, 'Except for flowers strung together in bouquets.'

[Neville]

I am mighty pleased that you stopped to consider these old words... I felt obliged to resurrect them following another more recent & rather harrowing driving experience on foreign and busy unfamiliar roads.... Neville

[emmajoy]

One should never forget someone else's shock and sorrow. Takes more than the ability to write regrets .. takes profound empathy.

[Lydia Shutter]

Monumentally sad. We have seen roadside memorials with teddy bears and flowers in our area too. Always makes me wonder how the parents are doing and how it happened. Compassionate write. Lydi**

[Neville]

I am so glad you read these words & am even more pleased that you stopped by to leave such a personal message that I essentially share to the letter............ N

[Chris Shaw]

We have a road near us, known as the thirteen bends of death. So many have lost their lives over the years, especially driving at night, and too fast. Memorials spring up quickly. I don't have any objection. I think it is sad, but a reminder to the living to take care. It certainly works for me, I automatically slow down, taking those bends. It's a way of honouring the dead, and making people aware at the same time. Your poem, about a child is very poignant, but the flowers are there for a reason and to make people more safety conscious.

Chris

[Neville]

I am grateful to anyone that might slow down or even pause for a few seconds to consider these words that were originally conceived so very many years ago, but which still so oft go unheeded... My somewhat precarious journey from Varna to Tserevo Koria earlier today provided the motivation for the resurrection of my 'Roadside Bouquets' .... Thank you Chris.... Neville

[Lyn Anderson]

Roadside memorials make me sad. But you knew this

[Neville]

I know and am so sorry... but I was on that same road today and thought I needed to say something... Neville

[Tom]

A somber almost surreal poem concerning a tragedy that sadly occurs all to often on our busy roads!

Pertinently penned Neville with reflective pathos !

[Neville]

My middle name is Pathos. At school, I was known as 'Bullet Pathos Pettitt' - Kids would knock on my door and ask my mum if Bullet, or Pathos would like to play. I would often send down notes written on the wings of a paper aeroplane ' F... off I need to write. N

[Matt Sayer]

The icon of bountiful life marking the site of too-soon death. What normally conjures thoughts of love, of passion, of growth, here denotes the tragedy of the fickle grip we have on life. Wonderful poem Neville :)

[Neville]

You are most welcome my new Friend and many thanks. All Good Things, N