A Poem recalling a special time.

Radrook

Radrook

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Location
USA

Sweet Memory: a poem​

By Radrook

Born 1946, M, from PA, United States
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Sweet Memory: a poem

Behold the Cherry blossom trees,
crimson, pink, and white.
Behold the emerald grass, swift wind,
the lake ablaze in light.

Behold the intertwining stalks,
the ones we dared to climb,
where fantasies of love we talked,
within romance sublime.

When the future seemed to stretch away
Into infinity.
No ending to our youthful days!
No urge from life to flee!

Where symphonies caressed our ears
and all was melody,
and passing years were never feared.
Old age? A fantasy!
.
Where you and I believed we were
eternal as the sky,
Approaching night? A distant blur,
since youth would never die.

Sweet Memory: a poem - A short story by Radrook
 

My head is bald, my breath is bad,
Unshaven is my chin,
I have not now the joys I had
When I was young in sin.
I run my fingers down your dress
With brandy-certain aim
And you respond to my caress
And maybe feel the same.​


But I've a picture of my own
On this reunion night,
Wherein two skeletons are shewn
To hold each other tight;
Dark sockets look on emptiness
Which once was loving-eyed,
The mouth that opens for a kiss
Has got no tongue inside.​


I cling to you inflamed with fear
As now you cling to me,
I feel how frail you are my dear
And wonder what will be--
A week? or twenty years remain?
And then--what kind of death?
A losing fight with frightful pain
Or a gasping fight for breath?​


Too long we let our bodies cling,
We cannot hide disgust
At all the thoughts that in us spring
From this late-flowering lust.”​

― John Betjeman, Collected Poems
 
Capt Lightning said:

My head is bald, my breath is bad,​

Unshaven is my chin,​

I have not now the joys I had​

When I was young in sin.​

I run my fingers down your dress​

With brandy-certain aim​

And you respond to my caress​

And maybe feel the same.​

​

But I've a picture of my own​

On this reunion night,​

Wherein two skeletons are shewn​

To hold each other tight;​

Dark sockets look on emptiness​

Which once was loving-eyed,​

The mouth that opens for a kiss​

Has got no tongue inside.​

​

I cling to you inflamed with fear​

As now you cling to me,​

I feel how frail you are my dear​

And wonder what will be--​

A week? or twenty years remain?​

And then--what kind of death?​

A losing fight with frightful pain​

Or a gasping fight for breath?​

​

Too long we let our bodies cling,​

We cannot hide disgust​

At all the thoughts that in us spring​

From this late-flowering lust.”​

― John Betjeman, Collected Poems
Click to expand...
Wow! LOLWROF! But honestly I love this poem. Thanks for posting.
John Betjeman - Wikipedia​
 

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Please do not strive to derail the thread by posting off-topic material, Thank you!
 
This definitely brings to mind a special time. My godmother sent it to me many years ago as I struggled to raise three children, work, and try to keep the house in some semblance of order. I was completely stressed out, but this poem has an excellent lesson. It was written in 1958.

I shared this last night with my older daughter, who will be delivering twins in a few weeks.

I still get choked up reading the last few lines.

Dust go to sleep.jpg
 
KSav said:
This definitely brings to mind a special time. My godmother sent it to me many years ago as I struggled to raise three children, work, and try to keep the house in some semblance of order. I was completely stressed out, but this poem has an excellent lesson. It was written in 1958.

I shared this last night with my older daughter, who will be delivering twins in a few weeks.

I still get choked up reading the last few lines.

View attachment 373854
Click to expand...
You can get special prints for the poem here:
Embracing the Newborn Phase with "Babies Don't Keep" Poem​
 
TO MY HUSBAND
--------------------
In your seductive gaze, I find the depth of a soul that completes mine, a bond stronger than any earthly tie.
From the moment we met to every shared heartbeat, you've been my rock, my guiding light. Thank you for being my constant, my everything.

P.S. NICE BUM !!! 💞 (Saw this on the internet and always liked it)
 
Indoor games near Newbury.. by Sir John Betjeman.

In among the silver birches,
Winding ways of tarmac wander
And the signs to Bussock Bottom,
Tussock Wood and Windy Break.
Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches
Catch the lights of our Lagonda
As we drive to Wendy’s party,
Lemon curd and Christmas cake

Rich the makes of motor whirring
Past the pine plantation purring
Come up Hupmobile Delage.
Short the way our chauffeurs travel
Crunching over private gravel,
Each from out his warm garage.

O but Wendy, when the carpet
Yielded to my indoor pumps.
There you stood, your gold hair streaming,
Handsome in the hall light gleaming
There you looked and there you led me
Off into the game of Clumps.

Then the new Victrola playing;
And your funny uncle saying
"Choose your partners for a foxtrot.
Dance until it's tea o'clock
Come on young 'uns, foot it feetly."
Was it chance that paired us neatly?
I who loved you so completely.
You who pressed me closely to you,
Hard against your party frock.

"Meet me when you've finished eating."
So we met and no one found us.
O that dark and furry cupboard,
While the rest played hide-and-seek.
Holding hands our two hearts beating.
In the bedroom silence round us
Holding hands and hardly hearing
Sudden footstep, thud and shriek

Love that lay too deep for kissing.
"Where is Wendy? Wendy's missing."
Love so pure it had to end.
Love so strong that I was frightened
When you gripped my fingers tight.
And hugging, whispered "I'm your friend."

Goodbye Wendy. Send the fairies,
Pinewood elf and larch tree gnome.
Spingle-spangled stars are peeping
At the lush Lagonda creeping
Down the winding ways of tarmac
To the leaded lights of home.

There among the silver birches,
All the bells of all the churches
Sounded in the bath-waste running
Out into the frosty air.
Wendy speeded my undressing.
Wendy is the sheet's caressing
Wendy bending gives a blessing.
Holds me as I drift to dreamland
Safe inside my slumber wear
 
Capt Lightning said:
Indoor games near Newbury.. by Sir John Betjeman.

In among the silver birches,
Winding ways of tarmac wander
And the signs to Bussock Bottom,
Tussock Wood and Windy Break.
Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches
Catch the lights of our Lagonda
As we drive to Wendy’s party,
Lemon curd and Christmas cake

Rich the makes of motor whirring
Past the pine plantation purring
Come up Hupmobile Delage.
Short the way our chauffeurs travel
Crunching over private gravel,
Each from out his warm garage.

O but Wendy, when the carpet
Yielded to my indoor pumps.
There you stood, your gold hair streaming,
Handsome in the hall light gleaming
There you looked and there you led me
Off into the game of Clumps.

Then the new Victrola playing;
And your funny uncle saying
"Choose your partners for a foxtrot.
Dance until it's tea o'clock
Come on young 'uns, foot it feetly."
Was it chance that paired us neatly?
I who loved you so completely.
You who pressed me closely to you,
Hard against your party frock.

"Meet me when you've finished eating."
So we met and no one found us.
O that dark and furry cupboard,
While the rest played hide-and-seek.
Holding hands our two hearts beating.
In the bedroom silence round us
Holding hands and hardly hearing
Sudden footstep, thud and shriek

Love that lay too deep for kissing.
"Where is Wendy? Wendy's missing."
Love so pure it had to end.
Love so strong that I was frightened
When you gripped my fingers tight.
And hugging, whispered "I'm your friend."

Goodbye Wendy. Send the fairies,
Pinewood elf and larch tree gnome.
Spingle-spangled stars are peeping
At the lush Lagonda creeping
Down the winding ways of tarmac
To the leaded lights of home.

There among the silver birches,
All the bells of all the churches
Sounded in the bath-waste running
Out into the frosty air.
Wendy speeded my undressing.
Wendy is the sheet's caressing
Wendy bending gives a blessing.
Holds me as I drift to dreamland
Safe inside my slumber wear
Click to expand...
Thanks for introducing me to this poet and his marvelous poetry! Interesting rhyming scheme!
Sir John Betjeman - Poems by the Famous Poet - All Poetry​
 
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Gift of Flight
by Radrook

One fine day I woke up and alack!
Two white glorious wings graced my back.
Was it blessing of flight?
Could I soar out of site?
Needed practice to give me the knack.

So I perched on the Eifle of Tower,
On that night of a copious shower,
When the streets were deserted,
And attention averted,
such as looks of disdain or of glowers.

Down below were the drenched cobbled streets
and the asphalt and solid concrete.
Up above were the stars
Far beyond beckoned Mars
But my heart beckoned me to retreat.

But why wings, if for flying not for?
To be shackled to Earth evermore?
So I walked to the ledge
After courage I dredged,
But I oozed frigid sweat from all pores.

Then the leap! and my chest to the night
And the flapping of wings to take flight.
Yet no aero dynamics
So I started to panic,
As I started to fathom my plight.

Outspread wings met the wet of the wind,
But the hover was brief. Not the spin
As I plummeted down
All the way to the ground,
which I hit with the front of my chin.

I survived by the slimmest of chance.
But I'm learning today how to prance.
Since I woke up with hooves,
Might as well try improve
Place your bets on me when you're in France.
 
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Radrook, I'm glad you like Betjeman's poetry. Another two of my favourites are 'Death in Leamington' and 'A Shropshire lad' which relates to Capt. Webb who was the first man to swim the English channel from England to France. It was also set to music and you may be able to find it on Youtube. Don't confuse it with 'A Shropshire lad' by A.E.Houseman or songs from it by George Butterworth.
 
Capt Lightning said:
Radrook, I'm glad you like Betjeman's poetry. Another two of my favourites are 'Death in Leamington' and 'A Shropshire lad' which relates to Capt. Webb who was the first man to swim the English channel from England to France. It was also set to music and you may be able to find it on Youtube. Don't confuse it with 'A Shropshire lad' by A.E.Houseman or songs from it by George Butterworth.
Click to expand...
Thanks. Will look up the poems.
 

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