Friday, 10 March 2017

dirt brown tea

How this poem came about is told in the first stanza. I was taking down the Christmas decorations and I was reminded of an event from 1975. The secret in such circumstances is to have a pen and paper handy. Thankfully I did have.

Taking Down the Decorations

Then I am reminded of August '75,
a cottage in Kerry, an invitation from a man,
probably no older than I am now.

After banana sandwiches and dirt brown tea,
he showed us his parlour
made up like Christmas Day.

You won't remember '75,
eclipsed as it was by the next year's heat wave,
but it was a more perfect summer.

The half closed curtains sculptured the sunlight,
bouncing off those mirrored surfaces
with an intensity I have never seen since.

I take the angel off the tree,
box up the string of lights,
pack away the stray memories.
There really was man who brightened his house every August with Christmas lights and decorations. 1975 was a stunning summer, without the water shortage drama of the following year. 1976 is the one we always remember.
I just wanted to capture the process of how thoughts blossom randomly.
Hurray For The Riff Raff has just released a new lp, The Navigator. Here's Pa'lante.
I'm off to listen to the whole thing, as it's just arrived through the post.
Until next time.

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