Vaults And Bookcases

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A cool Sunday morning, wearing old brown slippers and warm bedclothes.

Looking through my window, and hearing crows singing, I suppose.

Sitting here on borrowed chairs, at a homemade table, built by dad.

Listening to my music of sorrow, ballads of truth, voices humming so sad.

The tunes vibrating softly, from my brothers equipment, quietly in tempo with my pulse.

Staring at the tall wooden bookcase, displaying visions from my deepest vaults.

The dusty shelves, lined with personal photos, whom I’ve lost and found over the years.

Mostly pictures of her, now departed for a while, always engulfing my many fears.

And images of family and friends, but they’re all smiling as if nothings wrong.

Oh how we mysteriously grin, for that camera pointed at our souls of song.

There’s memorabilia, and her little trinkets, all reflecting on my hidden veneer.

And unopened dry red wines, dotting the racks, like mirrors of yesteryear.

 

Published by

ivor20

Hi, and welcome to my blog site. My name is Ivor Steven, I live in Geelong, Australia. I'm a retired, part-time plumber, and a former Carer of my wife(Carole), for 30 years, who suffered from severe MS. I Write poetry about those personal thoughts, throughout and beyond my life as a Carer. I've been blogging for 18 months, and writing poems for nearly 18 years. Of course a lot of my poems are about my favourite subject Carole, but since I've been blogging my writings have become quite varied, humourous, mystical, observational, and even a few monster/horror poems.

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