I'm sitting here
In deep thought
With my PC as usual
To connect surely
During these moments of solitude
When my heart with pleasure
Clings to memories the Icon brings
Where love once shone
His heart no longer beats
My love boxed in a hole silent and cold
The body of a man once strong
Is dead
Gone like the wind
No bond no wed
What is it
In the Icon
I to you now reveal
This man I met
When so very young
Did share his love sooooooooo
Unselfishly
Is now a torch glowing
And shines brightly
In the dark
In a quiet park
A sacred recess
His friendship
And respect
He gladly dished out
Responded to the many souls in distress
While ignoring self-serving guys
With spiteful minds
Glutting on fishcakes and bakes
Seasoned with peppercorns
In a bowl of popping corn
That exploded
In the heated air of morning mist
Hail I
My hero
Once clad in uniform
Whistle and cane
In service for his country and kin
A man of modest estate
Had a kind and goodly heart
I shall always remember
This man in casket
Draped with the Broken Trident
An honorable man now
Resting in that sacred
Holetown grave
On Sunset Crest ridge east
He was tall
Handsome
Witty
And brave
Yes I do remember
My beloved husband and Icon
© Paterika Hengreaves
In deep thought
With my PC as usual
To connect surely
During these moments of solitude
When my heart with pleasure
Clings to memories the Icon brings
The picture
My Icon
And memories' store
Those faded eyes revealedWhere love once shone
His heart no longer beats
My love boxed in a hole silent and cold
The body of a man once strong
Is dead
Gone like the wind
No bond no wed
What is it
In the Icon
I to you now reveal
This man I met
When so very young
Did share his love sooooooooo
Unselfishly
Is now a torch glowing
And shines brightly
In the dark
In a quiet park
A sacred recess
His friendship
And respect
He gladly dished out
Responded to the many souls in distress
While ignoring self-serving guys
With spiteful minds
Glutting on fishcakes and bakes
Seasoned with peppercorns
In a bowl of popping corn
That exploded
In the heated air of morning mist
Hail I
My hero
Once clad in uniform
Whistle and cane
In service for his country and kin
A man of modest estate
Had a kind and goodly heart
I shall always remember
This man in casket
Draped with the Broken Trident
An honorable man now
Resting in that sacred
Holetown grave
On Sunset Crest ridge east
He was tall
Handsome
Witty
And brave
Yes I do remember
My beloved husband and Icon
© Paterika Hengreaves
6 comments:
Just come to say hello and read your poetry. What a sad and touching words and a beautiful tribute to a special person.
Kia ora Marja
It is always a pleasure when you visit. Thank you very much for reading my poetry.
Cheers
Paterika
Kia Ora Paterika
What a powerful poem. The emotions and tide of memories almost knocked me over. I will need to read it many times to get the full meaning, but then, maybe I never will, as context and meaning change with your mood.
Thanks for sharing it.
Bob
Kia Ora Bob
Yes, this poem has many layers to it. Whichever layer filters your mind you cannot be wrong. As a matter of fact, politics; yearning for what has been; a tribute, remembrance; accepting what life is presently offering; recognizing cruelty; injustice in the world, and at the same time, the powerful influence of the PC (personal computer and the police).
Poetry should allow one to think outside the box and to appreciate the artistic style and imagery it evokes as the mind searches its contents for congruity.
Thank you very much for reading this poem.
Cheers
Paterika
Kia ora Paterika,
I, like Bob, return here often to read and reread poems, and always find something new to ponder. Thank you for allowing us the space to do that.
I have just returned from the Ruahines after 5 days alone amongst them and wild weather. Thanks for stopping by my place and I will be putting some words and photos up soon. I wrote a few poems while sitting on a hut porch while a flooded river raged by and the rain fell. I thought of you and your inspiration. Kia ora Paterika.
Aroha,
Robb
Paterika = Kia Ora !
Your poetry inspires wanderers and dreamers like Robb and I, and we encourage you to keep those inpirational gems coming.
I prefer dreams to memories, but both are necessary. For without history, our dreams lack context.
Warm regards
Bob
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