Memory Is A Curl Of Smoke

Memory Is A Curl Of Smoke

Memory is a curl of smoke amid the wisps of life;
Memory is the winds that blow; memory is a wife. 

Memory is the glints of sea reflected from the sky; 

Memory is the thought of she who never sighed a sigh.

The colours contain our friends; contain our loved ones; 

They glow with each intake, breathy groans that bemoan 

And bewail, swiftly, in an uplifting rush! Now quietly gone;

Sounding aloud the silent song of fast approaching sear ~

Of burning, burning, burning sun!  

It's Not The Same Anymore

It's Not The Same Anymore

It once was but is no more,
You said of our beloved city

That day we spoke from afar.
I said: 'Tis a pity! 'Tis a pity!

And true; so very true.
I shall never return.

So alien and blue,
And now I learn

It resonates with neither
Me nor you.

Why did time efface and wither
London of the few

Who made it swing-a-long
To an upbeat song

As cameras clicked
And hearts ticked

So merrily; so merrily?
Fare thee well, Chelsea!

Adieu, Holloway, Highgate
Hill and Hampstead Heath!

Goodbye London Town!
Then we put the 'phone down,

And never again
Spoke about its end.

We Made The Chamber Sweet

†

We made the chamber sweet 

With wreaths and a rosary,

And the coffin sweeter 

With flowers in which you lay;

Such remembrance shall not 

Grieve us as it might. 

For every glorious sight 

Brings such a lot.

More especially this day

Marks when innocently

You entered the world, 

And we remember thee!