~

now and again, without

warning or premonition

I am carried back, as if

abducted to a time and

place from my past, 

?

an eerie in-body, 

out-of-body chill 

washes over my senses, 

my mother had a saying

that it felt like someone had 

just trod over her grave,

?

so clear is the illusion that

I can sometimes smell a

familiar aroma, a specific

scent that also conveys a taste 

to the rear of my tongue,

?

by and large these 

excursions are agreeable

pleasing visitations to

briefly meet people and 

recall places that have

sculpted the important

shapes, directions and 

choices of my life,

?

whilst these peculiar 

sensations are initially 

somewhat disturbing being 

almost worthy of a loss of

consciousness, I have

learned over time to

welcome such fleeting

para-mental trips as

portent opportunities

to hone my thinking

?

I am no afterlife believer

and do not subscribe to

spirit contact of any kind

but I do feel these episodes are

taken down and dusted off

from a cerebral library within

and I am grateful for the chance

to be occasionally granted 

a peek behind its doors

*

© GRS 9/24

~

we were at school, 

and already together 

as sweet sixteeners

two virginities given,

freely, becoming married 

teenage parents in the 

fabled summer of love,

we watched all four 

children grow, leave 

home for college, marry 

and produce children 

of their own,

now we have turned grey,

with lined faces and have 

slowed together, proud 

elders of our own tribe with 

grandchildren to nurture,

but in the quiet warmth

of a summer sunset, 

or the low crackle of a

winter fireplace, we both 

now sit silently, hold hands

and ponder the same 

unanswerable question

*

© GRS 9/24

~

unwanted memories 

navigate the mists of time 

with the clinical accuracy 

of Noah’s dove and the

expertise of the blind ferryman 

who knows the capricious tides 

and the perilous reef,

memories arrive as litter, 

blown haphazardly like yesterday’s 

discarded newspaper to cling 

around my legs, I try vainly 

to kick them free but they goad me 

with the malevolence of the lion

tamer’s whip and chair, thus

subdued I place my sorry head 

into the slavering jaws of the past,

close my eyes and await

the biting guilt of my yesterdays

*

© GRS 9/24

~

she doesn’t know

about the hidden box

it once held posh biscuits,

it’s very sturdy, 

shiny too, stowed 

behind the paperbacks,

it’s full of her 

early-life scribblings

some tiny shells she 

collected for me from a 

beach somewhere,

a beaded necklace that 

she made herself unaided, 

insisting that I wear it for 

a day or two at least,

a beautifully arranged

autumnal leaf collage,

umpteen handmade birthday 

cards and proclamations 

of undying love for her Papa,

the piece de resistance,

a hand sewn heart that

she put by my hospital 

bed following serious 

cardiac surgery,

out of the blue, several 

years later, she asked me 

the other day

if I still had that heart and 

was both highly surprised

and elated when I confessed 

that I’d kept it,

she’ll get all worthless

treasure back one day

when I’m no longer around

to re-live those perfect long 

days we both spent

growing up together

*

© GRS 9/24

~

a funereal pallor 

drapes the garden, 

now a cemetery littered 

with unburied mourners 

that once shared my 

long summer salad days,

 gone the mottled warmth, 

heady scents, children’s musical 

laughter too, all must now pay

the change of season’s price, 

prone, sacrificial, destitute, 

newly frosted blooms

stare down passively from

lichen-licked terracotta pots, 

ghostly, white-faced, shocked stiff

vague helpless faded beauties 

of yesterday,

coppered leaves no longer 

dance between barren stems,

but hang crucified by the 

sudden chill, like hapless fish in 

spider-knitted cobweb nets,

I walk amongst them 

to give thanks, now just cold 

colourless brittle tombs, 

there is no life amongst 

these slatted shadows, no pulse,

just the smell of death

*

© GRS 9/24

~

that awful thought of you

suffering the gauntlet of 

sympathetic old faces,

sorry for your loss

thank you for coming

putting on your brave face, 

but secretly wishing you were 

anywhere else but there

sorry for you loss

thank you for coming

the trite eulogy of his life

delivered by a close friend

still ringing in your ears

sorry for you loss

thank you for coming

having to endure the ‘afters’

in the local pub, food being the

last thing in your thoughts

sorry for your loss

thank you for coming

the finality of the crushing silence

when everyone has made their 

lame excuses and left you alone

thank you for coming

*

© GRS 9/24

~

tentatively circling

like over cautious 

predatory birds 

demons pick their 

place and settle by my 

bedside to stake their 

claims and barter 

for my soul,

~

stoic as chess pieces,

stand the spectres of my life,

they watch me tiptoe 

closer to my mortal

precipice, their auras 

flare or fade, teased 

by the fragility of my

faltering sentience,

they do not speak but

nonetheless I am privy

to their deliberations,

~

I consider each one for

the who, the where, 

the what or how and if 

they ever made me smile,

cry or frown,

some are angels, nubile

beauteous girls, that flit

amongst the other ghosts

as if to tempt and tease

the stolid emotionless 

faces gathering,

the others, set beneath 

darker cloaks throw 

worried looks from woeful 

earnest eyes, each holding

tarnished scales to weigh

my life’s account, laid bare

all spent and nothing due,

~

so, this is the long game, a

jamboree of addled thoughts.

set side by side, both velvet

kisses and, sharpened daggers

find their mark,

virgins’ tears bedfellows

to wicked hateful scowls,

~

as shredded fibres yank

coiled rewired memories, 

facts and dross all jumble 

into soup stirred by the

tarnished spoon of my 

departing intellect,

I, a poor mans’ Jesus figurine 

take all with equal grace, 

giving thanks, before like

unfulfilled disciples, my ghosts 

passively turn away and leave

*

© GRS 9/24

~

some days, like today

I feel the need to climb,

obtain a clearer view

a broader panorama with 

few if any boundaries,

to feel a cooler wind

across my face,

some days like today

I convince myself to stir 

the silt of my contentment

and hanker for a broader

vista, like that accorded 

to the seafarer, who sees

no stable horizon, I know

other men, braver than I

have witnessed more, have

spoken in different tongues,

travelled further and return

to tell fantastical stories,

some days like today

I reckon up my life and 

consider the journey still

not taken, paths not chosen

people yet to meet,

some days like today

I feel the need to climb

and become a better man

*

© GRS 9/24

~

words arrive like meteors,

songs born from the earth

they hit my brain 

like heavy rain

new folklore given birth,

I don’t do much rehearsing

it knits together fast

pure rhythm springs

across these strings

anthems built to last,

I know this is a golden time

and none may do me harm

ethereal material, the

muse hangs on my arm,

one day I’ll give the girl away

the harvest will be mine

these silver frets 

have no regrets

in this my time to shine

GRS 09/24.

~

graffiti appears overnight

created it seems as we sleep 

like teenagers’ acne,

akin to most unwanted

arrivals, it looks worse if

attempts are made to erase it,

the acne carries a clear,

strong message, a herald

to puberty and growth,

with graffiti the tenet is

usually vague, convoluted

and indecipherable,

a great irony exists as the

exponent of graffiti is often

the sufferer of the acne,

truly, nature’s way of

tarring someone with

their own brush,

*

© GRS 9/24