Going Back To My RootsA Poem by Chris ShawChristmas in the fifties in London, one from the archives.
It's just as I remember this home of long ago,
the thoughts still warm my spirits when I'm feeling low. I hear the Christmas knees-up, late relatives at play, I'm sitting on their doorstep, the ghosts are back today. All handing round their presents, the laughter and the jokes, the tinsel and the baubles, the dog-ends of the smokes. My Grandad sports his braces, a pint glass in his hand as I eat bowls of jelly, with fruit from out a can. There's Stephen stuffed on pork pie, our Mum will have a fit, Aunt Alice sloshed on sherry, she's getting on a bit. Let's do the okey-cokey, we all stand in a ring, my Nan leads on piano, not one of them can sing. Now in come all the neighbours, the place is tightly packed, the booze is on the dresser, the sandwiches are stacked. The front door is wide open, we conga in the street and everyone is having fun, it is our Christmas treat. Us young ones find a table and hide beneath its top and stay there telling stories until the music stops. Then Nan comes to our rescue as we go off to bed, there's four of us, one mattress, we snuggle head to head. I'm unsophisticated but don't think that's a fault. It's something that I'm proud of, I come from earth's plain salt.
© 2018 Chris ShawFeatured Review
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21 Reviews Added on December 8, 2018 Last Updated on December 8, 2018 AuthorChris ShawBerkshire, United KingdomAboutAlbert, my paternal grandfather introduced me to Tennyson when I was nine. I have loved poetry ever since but did not attempt writing a single piece until I was 40. It's never too late to try somethin.. more..Writing
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