To Grand Old Men
Lift a glass
for what has passed
and what will come,
as roses preen
and white mums sigh
their soft goodbyes
around us.
Once you kissed
a hundred lips,
raced horses wild
through midnight fields,
sang drunken dreams
to kith and kin,
til aging skin and worn-out heart
dragged sweet sung words
to mounded earth
before the stanza ended.
Pris Campbell
(c)2001
3 comments:
A tough call for you Pris, too sad. I am thinking of you here in my little Welsh corner of the globe. Yes, the globe has got corners. They are what stops us falling off when we are feeling venerable and the love of our friends overwhelm us. B xx
Congratulations on your latest award, Pris; never mind 'Poet of the Month' - you are my 'Poet of the Year'. Pain and suffering only seem to hone your poetic intellect to a sharper edge. Your poems - often very personal and nostalgic - always steer well clear of the sentimental, and often (like your 'Eleanor' one)have a sting in the tale. You always inspire me with your hard, salty courage, Pris, and stop me from feeling self-pity when I suffer my own arthritic pains.
Just keep fighting, keep writing! Geoff.
Lovely field-wake poem.
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