Forever Young

Forever Young

Dedicated to my father

(6 February 1930 - 26 January 2012)

An empty seafront

in February rain.

I sit on a stone bench,

watch the seagulls

gather on the rocks,

feathers frill

in the breeze.

I see your face,

your engaging smile,

keen eyes,

dark hair,

bronzed skin,

I hear your voice,

its warm tones

soothing.

You are forever young.

Remembering my Great Grandfather 11.11.11

My Great Grandfather
W. T. Pickering, G/3371, 2nd Battalion Royal Fusiliers
Died 1916 at the Somme, commemorated on the Thipeval Memorial, France
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Remembrance day ..
A field of bright red poppies dance
As I walk hand in hand with my children
Through the battle fields of the Somme.
In my pocket, I have a bunch of wheat
A token memory from where he fell
At peace, to have walked where he walked.

As the poppies begin to fade....
I hear the thunder of guns, shrieking shells
I see a vast sea of dismembered bodies
A No-Man’s Land of mud and wire
A military display of golden fireworks
Casting light on this horrific hell on earth.

For underneath the poppies lie, the remains
Of so many men, who died, blown to pieces;
Where a river of blood will forever bleed
Passed on from generation to generation
The great loss of war, which nobody wins
As I remember William Thomas Pickering
So far away from home....

I wonder

In the stillness of the morning
I open my window.
I wonder if it is you
who calls me?
through trembling leaves
lilting birdsong
a cool breeze embrace
gently touching my face.

I scan the sky
clouds drifting to the east.
I search for your face
a sign, a trace.
I watch the sun rise behind dark spruce
shadows streak the fields,
a circle of light glides the sea.

I close my eyes
basking in new born rays.
I wonder could it be your glow?
I hear a faint whisper
rustle beneath the red maple.
I sense your aura
as baby pink rosebuds bloom.

House martins skim the trees
clipping in and out of nests.
Dewdrops drip from their beaks
to nourish their young.
I wonder can they see you?
I watch in silence
in wonder.