I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world,
to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

This blog is not, 'Here are my very best poems'. It's for work in progress, subject to revision.
Posts may be updated without notice at any time. Completed work appears in my books.

18 March 2008

That Day At Spreyton

It had been raining.
We looked out of windows
in pink stone walls
and saw the light all golden,
softened after the rain.
The winter afternoon drew in.

The windows still dripped
from overhanging vines.
The water blurred the glass
and the scene outside twisted.
We saw the grass pale green,
wet and freshened.

A scrap of visible sky
was gentle grayish-white.
There was a smell
not sweet, not tart,
but softly pungent, earthy –
the sodden, just-mown grass.

The sun for a moment
cracked the clouds,
for a moment glistened, dazzling,
striking the old shed and the water pipe.
Then the clouds moved
and the world returned to soft.

I always go back
to that day at Spreyton,
my grandparents' place.
In the room, pink walls were warm,
the fire burned gold and orange
over blackening logs.

© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008

14-18/3/08

4 comments:

  1. I really like the feel of this poem. I, having never been there once, am back there too.

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  2. You are such a dear to say so! I do so appreciate your comments on my blogs. I may not get hordes of readers here yet, but I'm thrilled to have the particular ones I've got.

    It's especially nice to get comments on new pieces, so I know if they're working. Ta!

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  3. PS Just so you know, Spreyton is in north-west Tasmania.

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  4. Thanks, I didn't know that!

    That's how I feel about my readers too... it's a great adventure this blogging business!

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