Tag Archives: memories

Photograph

I was deeply moved when, on entering my local pub yesterday (Saturday 17th October), I found that the pub had, on prominent display a photograph of my former guide dog Trigger.

Distance shot of Trigger’s photo

I have long since lost count of the number of occasions on which Trigger and I would visit the pub. Whilst I enjoyed chatting to friends over a pint (or more)! of beer Trigger would enjoy being stroked, or vacuuming up the crisps or nuts which he so adeptly managed to find on the carpet! He was a typical lab/retriever (but possessed of his own unique lovable personality), and is still sadly missed by me, and so many other people who knew him.

The below poem, “Early Morning Walk”, was written shortly after having walked Trigger in woods close to my home. Dogs live in the moment. They do not become obsessed with useless thought as do we humans, and we have so much to learn from them.

My dog snuffles
and scuffles
amongst the leaves.
He is just there
With no care
For what I think
As I drink
In the fresh morning air.

—

Should you happen to be in the Crystal Palace/Gipsy Hill area, and fancy a pint in convivial surroundings, you can find the Railway Bell (and Trigger’s photograph) here, https://www.rampubcompany.co.uk/visit-pubs/railway-bell.

The Railway Pub

My thanks to my friend Jeff for taking the photograph, and my friend Henry for printing it.

Close-up of Trigger’s photo

My thanks also to Danielle of The Railway Bell for her kindness in having the photograph framed and arranging for it to be displayed in the pub.

Flowers In My Mum’s Garden

8 Replies

Flowers in my mum’s garden
Bring to mind
A former time
When my grandfather grew roses.

I remember the scent
Of roses in his garden.
And my attempt
To make perfume.

In youth
Few engage with age.
And the truth
That roses,
Are gone so soon.

Half-Remembered Faces

Chrysanthemums

2 Replies

Supermarket aisles.
Plastic smiles
And chrysanthemums I bought
As they brought
To mind
My grandfather’s garden, and hours
Spent amongst the scent
Of flowers.
Yet I find
But little scent
In these doctored blooms.

A Confusion Over Socks

4 Replies

A confusion over socks.
She laughs.
Their paths
Did Converge for a time

His memory unlocks
And she, and her socks
Are bound in a rhyme.

Rain And Sky

2 Replies

I remember well
The hut.
The rain fell
But
I swear
That I was content there.

Alone I was
Because
I wished it to be so.
I know
The rain and sky
For it is I.

A strange boy was I.
My heart
Given to rain and sky,
Standing aloof from the loud
Crowd
In my hut.
But
Half wishing to be part
Of those who were children as I
Yet knew not of rain and sky.

The Hall

Russian Doll

2 Replies

I remember a Russian doll, by the fireplace.
I took it apart
But could trace
Therein no heart,
For ‘Twas only art.
With no start
Or conclusion.
‘Twas a mere confusion
Of toy
And boy.

I Remember You Still

3 Replies

I remember you still.
How the heat
Did defeat
The outer chill.
Oh yes, I remember you still.

I remember you still.
How you did desire
The electric fire
In my bedroom,
And soon
The heat
Did defeat
The outer chill.
Oh yes, I remember you still

I remember you still.
How you bought that dress
To impress
And fulfil my desire.
The fire
Removed the outer chill.
Oh yes, I remember you still.

I remember you still.
Your head
On the bed
And us warm from the heat
That did defeat
The outer chill.
Oh yes, I remember you still …

Memory

6 Replies

Our memory is like a garden, where we spend many hours
Watering fragrant flowers.
Yet sometimes we succeed
In fertilising a weed.
Indeed
We take a perverse delight in watching it grow
Much though
We deny that it is so!

Let not the weed
Seed
Say I,
But learn from it, then let it die,
For if it’s growth you do not control
It will succeed
And choke your soul.