Al Green

The picture is of my dad and my late mother, 19th July 1969.

 

Even now

I cannot hear her past,

follow the sounds

that cul-de-sac

in chorus and melody

and the footstep-echoes,

of her

 

while he directs,

my memory sat-nav,

lilting soulfully

to when we were young

and vinyl crackled

like tyres on roads

and yet

 

only now

can I tread her past

the milestone images

tarmac-cracked,

aging the youthful

in an imitation of life,

but still

 

I can bear this journey

sepia toned

or weakly coloured,

picking an easy path

to when she was young

and beautiful

before life had it’s way.

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

i don't know why your fine poetry doesn't get more attention, but then i've got lists and lists of things i don't know...

[Ebs]

Beautiful poem. Loved the words used. They painted a really clear picture. great work.

ebs