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Digital Photo's by David Stevens
Slide show
Slide show
Poetry by Glenn Salter
Photo courtesy of Glenn Salter
THE OTTERY POEM
I walk along the Otter, looking for my love, Soft wet grass beneath my feet and dark clouds up above, Towards the red brick factory, rising by the weir, And the bells of St. Mary's church sounding crisp and near. I walked this muddy path before, so many times this way, Holding hands with the one I love, drinking in the day, Planning our lives together, making two to one With the rainbow lights on the stream beside, dancing in the sun. She told me that we were through, a perfumed note arrived I felt the pain of a despairing heart, crush me deep inside, The letter made It clear to me, that we could never be, Her shy smile and her deep blue eyes, again will never see. The paths around the Fluxton I've trod a thousand times, As Coleridge did many years before, constructing dreamy rhymes , And the brook beside the chanters house wends its tireless way, And the nightingales on the graveyard stocks welcome in the day. The grass is longer than I remember, covering the graves The tower and it's jet black face, defy the morning haze With the nine proud trees guarding the gate, standing in a row, And chiseled faces carved in stone gazing down below. The names I see recorded on the stones and polished brass Remind me that, no matter what, life for us will pass, And what life gives or takes from us, the joy that we have found, Will all return to dust and clay, deep down in hallowed ground. My walk continues at a steady rate, tiredness never comes, And the rain it doesn't wet me and I'm not troubled by the sun, Residents walk by, I smile, but they never see me pass, In windows of the busy shops, no reflection in the glass. Autumn and the fallen leaves have cloaked the parlour floor the pixies left and caves are gone, many dreams before, I've searched the lanes of Ottery, four hundred years have gone, My search goes on, to ask my love, where did we go wrong? By Glenn Salter Published 18th August 2015 |
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THE PHONE CALL
Picking up the phone, to speak to mum and dad
Picking out the numbers, scribbled on a pad I need to tell them how I am and to know that they're ok There's so much I need to tell them, so much I need to say. Have to tell them that I love them, despite of things gone by Sometimes things were hard to say, barely seeing eye to eye But as we all grew older and our stances start to fade We start to recognise the silly mistakes that we have made Mum will tell me about her day, the chores that she has done, Sorting out the garden, now we've had a bit of sun, Ironing shirts and cooking dinner, shopping and the bed, And telling me some gossip, from town, that someone said No doubt my dad is sitting in his chair just thumbing through his books Trying to speak to mother, only exchanging confused looks And his gently shaking hand, as he lifts to drink his cup of tea And three bottles standing in a row, just in case he wants a wee We'll talk about the old days when I was only young When summer seemed to go on and on, no rain and only sun. Walking across the East Hill strips, climbing trees and fences And the sun, the rain, the gravelled road rekindling our senses We used to park the car up and see how far we'd walk It gave us chance, away from things, to listen and to talk And then, when talk was over, the play times would begin Sailing rafts on muddy streams like Huckleberry Finn And when playing time is over, the sun would start to leave And our little Morris Minor, though the narrow lanes would weave And stopping off, The Toy and Candy Shop, to pick some penny chews And if mum and dad were feeling flush, some lick-on toy tattoos Bath night on a Sunday, 'cause schools on Monday morn And mum would sit down sewing up, the uniforms we've torn Almost ready for next day schooling, homework's all been done Listening to the countdown, try to guess who's number one. The memories come thick and fast while I'm waiting for the tone And smiling when I think of all the seeds they both have sown Children and their grandchildren, memories and laughter The kind of life, that I believe, everyone seeks after I'm going to thank them both from me, for everything they did For giving me direction when I was just a kid I got so many things to tell them, I need to hear their voices I've walked away from my old life, I need approval for my choices My heart is beating out my chest, my words are still unknown Hands are sweating holding on the silent telephone No tone is there, no ringing, no answer to discover It's been like that for many years, since I lost dear Dad and Mother. By Glenn Salter Published 18th August 2015 |
Website created on 17th August 2015
by Marlene Budd |