Bourne Road

Pooky’s Poetry Prompt 11:

 

 

Back in the days of jeans and bandana’s
I would tip toe along the old stone brick walls
taking a swing on the old iron gate
into the old tennis-racket shaped road.
We were the children of the River Bourne
playing happily above our ancient wood
cycling in circles around our bubble
waiting to venture down the unknown path.
We created chalk worlds on the grey pavement
where our art reflected our village life
of summer carnivals and bonfire nights
bringing this circle into another vibe.
I remember standing outside my home
eighteen years of me imprinted in those bricks
echoes of laughter bound through the parish
as I waltzed into the woods, goodbye.
The 90s children have all grown and gone
new pedals and canine friends take their place
but the brown robins are still all twittering
like the old ladies down by station house.
The road I grew up on belongs elsewhere
in a time of jeans and bad bandana’s
when dancing to ‘Under the Sea’ was cool
and dinner was hot curry sauce on chips.
 

#NaPoWriMo Day Seventeen – “Castles”

 

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Through the window is a narration

of the past and present mixing

my heart of inspiration. 

 

I love the richness of these places

a group of united kingdoms;

strong pride in her peoples faces.

 

Albion has a long story

of Kings, with their conflict and feuds.

Just pages in her history.

 

The ruins of yesterday stand

tall and proud above the Wye

separating two ancient lands.

 

A little intimidating! 

But at the same time, brilliant!

To see her strong and surviving.

 

A castle weathered throughout time

for centuries now her church bells chime.

 

Ollie

Image

Little Ollie, so bubbly and bright

Eyes sparkling the summer light

running around with your tail so high

leaping through the air to catch a fly

and bouncing onto the garden chairs

to watch Jasper sleep beneath the stairs.

All you want to do is yap and play

although your tongue hangs out this hot day.

Little Ollie, as pure as the snow

here i am, and walking we will go.

Friends

Friends

 

Summer storms through the silly season

And I am my own fashion treason.

Asleep in my hoodie and flip flops,

Cropped leggings and blue Whovian top.

At my desk the universe lights up

But a first thing first, where’s my Garfield cup?

On my phone is a little image

So my sleepy eyes start to scrimmage.

An old photo of a time and place

Where five girls are caught in an embrace.

They look up at me from yesterday

Far. Far, away from this port side bay.

Those were the days of Pimms and flowers,

Best friends, and summer showers.

Gone are those days of dancing till dawn,

Getting drunk, waking up on the lawn.

No we’re closer to the big 3-0

Alarm clocks and coffee run the show

Dancing along the trapeze of life

As friend, worker, mother, sister, wife…

The world has spun a few times or more

Since I was last knocking at your door

But no matter how far we all roam

That time, that place, will always be home.