Tuesday, 15 August 2017

For T

Red eyes of salt water memories
swim in the blue Caribbean Sea
over bottomless coastal shelves
a thousand fish stream by
like days long gone.

Did you remember to the end
the shouts of joyous jumping into cavernous cenotes
filled with the tears generations?
Or did fog again obscure the peaks
around the volcanic beaches of Ometepe
leaving only the eyes of languid cattle
to watch us without understanding?

Did you remember to the end
the resonance of the hillside church bells,
the mariachi street bands singing as we ate dinner
the whispers from sultry jungle nights ?
Or did the tangles muddle
the sounds of Star Wars in Spanish
our breathless running the gauntlet of raging mosquitos back to our tents?

Did you remember to the end
The magic of marketplaces, rhythmic swathes of kaleidoscopic colours
dancing like a salsa winding its way through the streets of Merida?.
Our merriment at Colunga’s surreal seats,
the laughter of Guatemalan washer women as we staged a photoshoot
Our childish games among the Mayan columns
the white hot sand of Caya Caulker grinding beneath our feet?

Did you remember to the end
or did the decay of neurons rob me from you?
Your arm around my shoulder once mended my shocked soul,
Mine unable to mend your mind in return.
Your smile once brightened my mornings
as every sun rose so now it sets
for I remember your joy, my friend,
and it will shine within me always.

© Sheila Ash 15th August 2017

Monday, 17 July 2017

Love song

Running round the corner wind in your hair
You took my breath away. Would I dare?
Lost in the scene, flower power days remembered
Lost in a dream, my heart surrendered.

Summer days, you lit up my life
Summer nights resting in the arms of my wife.
Fresh and cool your summer dresses
Replaced now by winter caresses.

Golden hair, skin soft and tender
Those are the days I remember
Grey locks flow now
As we approach our November.

© Sheila Ash 17th July 2017

Monday, 10 July 2017

Memories from a crochet hook

Memories from a crochet hook

Granny’s crochet shawls
spread across the settee back
gathering cat hairs,
budgie droppings
and age.

Ponchos draped over 1970s shoulders
above bell-bottom blue denims
widened with inserts
patched with Laura Ashley prints
pieces of faux fur
swaying to Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young
smelling of sheep in the rain.

Squares pointlessly joined together
by WRI ladies’ restless fingers
in dentist waiting rooms
for the children of Biafra.

Pairs of dainty bootees
always white
their pink or blue ribbon laces
discarded appropriately.

A red plastic case
housing a complete set of differently sized of hooks
sits forlorn
on the charity shop table.

© Sheila Ash 10th July 2017