creative writing, love, poetry, rhyme

Through the window.

window


I stand at the sash window,

Looking out on clear moonlight;

In the middle of the city,

But in the silence of the night.


The distant hum of a motor;

Leaves rustle in the breeze,

But the houses stand so still

On this August ‘summer’ eve.


The silhouettes of rooftops

Etched out upon the hill,

Victorian homes and Georgian ones;

Framed through the windowsill.


I stand here, quiet with wonder,

Looking out upon the night –

Bay windows and some sash ones,

Burning with an amber light.


These streets hold so much history

Of generations before,

Before they were converted

And whole families roamed four floors.


The chimney stacks remain,

Though no smoke now will you see,

From our little attic flat;

My first home at twenty three.


But, just for one moment,

When outlines are all I can see,

I pretend it’s 1921

And how these streets would be.


Those amber lights in the windows,

Are open fires burning bright;

As children sit with homemade toys

And wooden tops bring such delight.


The dim Victorian street lamps

Which now watch over parked cars,

Would navigate the way

For a motorbike and cart.


I stand at the sash window

Upon which the whole moon shines,

And realise that these city streets

Will stand the test of time.


livingthroughlines 2017.

family, grandad, grandparents, love, poetry, rhyme

The House that Grandad Built. 

You are everywhere, 

But nowhere in sight.

Teak wood glory,

A nod to your trade.

I had never noticed,

The gleam of the gold mirror’s frame

On your living room wall,

Yet now it’s vintage presence

Has pride of place in mine.

And what of the music

That you spun her around to

At just 16 years of age?

I will dance all the same

Underneath our slanted ceilings

As he takes my hand.

All four of the rooms

Contain a token of you,

Of memories before my time

That your love can no longer

Quite remember to recall.

Each day I sit upon your chair

But no longer on your knee,

I sit beside a new man,

With whom you would be pleased.

Your home and your history

That you had to leave behind,

Now sit upon the table tops

And fill the walls of mine.

 

©livingthroughlines 2017.