I could not resist it.
The bliss that came to visit.
And today it continues…
Within me to sit!
I can not promise,
What tomorrow for me brings.
I’ll just remember bliss,
For what bliss to me is!
Wanting to keep it.
As it made me sing!
Knowing it at all…
Makes me feel blessed,
To have experienced bliss.
Feeling it soar within me to exist!
And to know bliss like this within me lives!
‘Who are You, Lord? …’
and the echo came back
like a winter shout against a cliff of stone..
‘…..Lord……’
Today
I whispered in my despair
‘Lord, who are You? …’
and the echo came back
like summer water over a pebble…
‘……You…..’
Leave a Reply
when I saw myself doing this
as I must have watched you all those years ago,
and forgotten ever since ’til now –
the butter firmly spread right to the edges of the crust,
pressed into the yielding bread,
and then the surplus gently scraped off on the knife
with all the careful but not mean economy
of a family which after your father’s lungs
gave in to the cotton dust of the mill
where he worked so proudly for John Bright
the reformer (and there’s a thought)
and your mother opened the front door of your home,
whose street-front window now became
a front-room shop for home-made cakes
so that the neighbours’ help was charity with dignity and fair exchange;
the butter for the scones
you made before you left for morning school
came from out of a wooden tub
from the ‘Italian warehouseman’ or
the very first Co-op, down in Toad Lane…
Whether the tears poised at the corners of the eyes
were of sadness or of gratitude
for this so unexpected memory of the living dead
I couldn’t say. But now,
gratitude. And, and, beauty.
Leave a Reply
I watched from the pub window
as a van from a high-class Consultant on
spatial and temporal problems
it implied
in one of those pretentious titles
of enterprising thirtyish freelance entrepreneurs
gunning for a profitable big corporation buy-out I guess
pulled up and parked in the very place
and for the very time
guaranteed to cause most disruption
to the desperate gotta-buy-her-sump’n traffic on the busy road
while I in my righteous citizen mode
frowned and awaited developments
until many minutes later
he returned
looking very pleased with himself
carrying a bunch
of not many red roses
in a cut-glass vase (clever florist) ,
i’m not sure about the water – the vase was tilted
in his hasty, laddish, anticipatory hand
and drove off.
Leave a Reply
Today,
It also replaces bikini tops.
Copyright 2017, Rose Marie Juan-Austin, All Rights Reserved