Tag Archives: walks

Poem 71: From the hill in autumn

(The lovely, late Cynthia Jobin – whom a number of you would have encountered – used to re-post earlier posted poems when she had no time or the muse had vanished. What is good for the goose is good for the gander. I shall do the same! This poem – From the hill in autumn – was the first poem I posted, way back. To be honest, I wrote it when I was 18. It’s autumn here now – so it’s appropriate enough. I am 68 so the poem is 50 years old! AND, according to my youthful 18-year old mind, I’m apparently meant to be dead by now!)

It’s lovely from the hill today.
A flock of autumn crows are twirling near
And floating-slow like burnt paper in air,
And vines blood and yellow on a black butterfly
Die slowly as the cold comes
In leaden droplets. Far away, hills turn, hand in hand,
As giant square-dancers turn, happy in a warmer land.
The purple winds call old, sad melodies.

When fifty years limp by and I’m bones and cold
With yellow skin a tattered leaf,
They’ll say, though his bones be straight,
His heart was bent and cried
Like a child on its lonely walks.

It’s autumn, and the scarecrowed trees shed gold.

 

829. Baby talkie walkie

829talkie

(This story is best “experienced” by following the written words while listening to the audio)

The mother’s three daughters had all grown up and fled the nest. Once a year, they’d return at the same time and jolly their mother along for a few days and have a few rollicking laughs. Whenever they got together like that, they reverted to baby talk – not just in names (mother was Mumsy-Wumsy, Jennifer was Jenny-Henny-Penny, Sally was Sally-Wally-Bugsie-Pie, and April was Apie-Dopey-Dapey – but in the names for things as well. For example, a cabbage was a cabby-waggy, and a carrot was a yummy-yummy.

Anyway, they would go for walks…

“Look!” said Jennifer. “What an amazing butterfly!”

“Oh! It’s so pretty!” said Sally. April cupped the butterfly in her hands.

“You shouldn’t touch it,” said their Mum. “You might damage it wings. They’re so delicate.”

April opened her hands and tossed the butterfly into the air.

“There you go!” said April. “Free as a bird!”

“A butterfly is not a bird, you silly idiot,” giggled Jennifer.

How they enjoyed their little walks on such sunny afternoons; the four of them: Mum, Jennifer, Sally and April. It wasn’t much, but such walks were filled with moments that will be remembered forever.