h'work w/e 12.2.18 - ESSENCE
Posted: Tue Jan 30, 2018 1:55 pm
ESSENCE ... Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBark Poet
The jasmine is in bloom this year, its flowers creamy white
it scrambles 'cross the picket fence and scents the humid night,
and winds up through the branches of the old magnolia tree
I recall my mother's perfume. How I love that memory.
Reflections on a window pane that's festooned with a web
that the golden orb spider has made, memories of a deb
in white satin and lace with silver shoes and bouffant hair ...
so many years have passed since her reflection I saw there.
The city is encroaching on the waving fields of wheat
with their plumed heads nodding nonchalant and heavy in the heat.
City lights at night are casting on the sky an eerie glow
from the neons and the streetlights - soon this field of wheat will go
I have heated up a little milk from our old Jersey cow
and have sweetened it with honey and I sprinkle nutmeg now
on the top - the scent of nutmeg seems to pervade all the room
and the solitary candle lit tries to dispel the gloom.
If God granted me three wishes well I know what they would be ...
to sit with Mum and Dad once more 'neath that magnolia tree
in the evening when the Jasmine blooms and shares her sweet perfume ...
and once more I smell Mum's perfume drifting faint around the room.
I would wish that all the dogs were there all laying at our feet,
for each one was dearly loved and without them life's incomplete.
But they rest beneath the red dirt now, though in my heart do dwell
and each one was a good dog and to each we said farewell.
And my third wish, sitting here inside the house where I was born,
is for strength to leave and make a life away - for I am torn
with regret, heartache and unknown fears for this journey I take
and I won't return. I cannot. For I know my heart would break.
The jasmine is in bloom this year, its flowers creamy white
it scrambles 'cross the picket fence and scents the humid night,
and winds up through the branches of the old magnolia tree.
I will leave this house tomorrow but retain its memory.
30/1/18
The jasmine is in bloom this year, its flowers creamy white
it scrambles 'cross the picket fence and scents the humid night,
and winds up through the branches of the old magnolia tree
I recall my mother's perfume. How I love that memory.
Reflections on a window pane that's festooned with a web
that the golden orb spider has made, memories of a deb
in white satin and lace with silver shoes and bouffant hair ...
so many years have passed since her reflection I saw there.
The city is encroaching on the waving fields of wheat
with their plumed heads nodding nonchalant and heavy in the heat.
City lights at night are casting on the sky an eerie glow
from the neons and the streetlights - soon this field of wheat will go
I have heated up a little milk from our old Jersey cow
and have sweetened it with honey and I sprinkle nutmeg now
on the top - the scent of nutmeg seems to pervade all the room
and the solitary candle lit tries to dispel the gloom.
If God granted me three wishes well I know what they would be ...
to sit with Mum and Dad once more 'neath that magnolia tree
in the evening when the Jasmine blooms and shares her sweet perfume ...
and once more I smell Mum's perfume drifting faint around the room.
I would wish that all the dogs were there all laying at our feet,
for each one was dearly loved and without them life's incomplete.
But they rest beneath the red dirt now, though in my heart do dwell
and each one was a good dog and to each we said farewell.
And my third wish, sitting here inside the house where I was born,
is for strength to leave and make a life away - for I am torn
with regret, heartache and unknown fears for this journey I take
and I won't return. I cannot. For I know my heart would break.
The jasmine is in bloom this year, its flowers creamy white
it scrambles 'cross the picket fence and scents the humid night,
and winds up through the branches of the old magnolia tree.
I will leave this house tomorrow but retain its memory.
30/1/18
