Tag Archives: Poetry

Awake

The sun-lines splice me,
Casting light into my mind.
I can see you now.

©Davey Northcott December 2014

If you enjoyed this, check out my ebook: ‘The Path Through the Eye of Another’

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Memories lost

A pastel smudge of colour
Paints a watered iris-eye,
An echo
Of a something almost lost;
Half remembered.
What do you remember, eye?
What have you seen,
Eye?
A pupil of a life
Arduous and long, now
Lies in forgotten recesses
Of a dusty mind’s shelf.
And when I speak to you
You hear me; do you listen,
Though?
And when you speak to me,
I hear you, too.
But am I listening?
A cyclical repetition
To enrage a saddened shrine to
Age and Me; I am saddened too.
And My memories are all that remain now.
For yours, I cannot find anymore.
A sudden flash illuminates your
Loch-like expanse
What are you recalling now,
Eye?
Excitement flushes through
Me, a chance of you,
And we smile for a while
Before the vinyl scratch
Screams out its domination
Once more.
And the eye is again
As a pastel, a dim-washed
Colour, nothing more
Again.

 

Written as a memory for someone who lost theirs …

©Davey Northcott March 2014

If you enjoyed this, check out my ebook: ‘The Path Through the Eye of Another’

Meet Tania … moving house.

 

Packing up a box of memories; that was how the young girl felt. She didn’t have much, hadn’t been long in the home, but the memories were there. She didn’t know if they would all fit into the shoe box with its coloured elastic bands around it to stop the lid from coming off, but she would try and force them in anyway.

‘Tea’s ready,’ came the shout from downstairs. ‘Hurry up Tania, you’ll want ya’ fish fingers before you ‘ave to go.’

Tania smiled as the last swirls of the kind lady’s voice spun their way up through the part-open door to find her. She would miss this lady. There had been others she didn’t miss, that was for sure, but this one … yer, she’d miss her. And as she gathered up the last of the memories from the crowded bedroom that, for the last three months, she’d been sharing with two others—they were staying, lucky them—she crossed her fingers, nails bitten down to the quick, that the next place she went with her memory box would be like this.

In the kitchen she pecked at her tea. Maybe, if she ate slowly time would slow down also, maybe the spindle arms of the austere clock face would take pity on her butterflied stomach and hesitate. Just for her.

‘What you thinking ‘bout, love?’ asked the kind lady.

Tania smiled up at her through a few fish-crumbs. She didn’t reply, she never did, she never spoke to anyone apart from the memories that she carried in her box.

And then the clock hands did their work and dragged the sound of the glass-muffled car engine to her door.

And she left with a hug from the kind lady, crossed fingers and her box of rubber band-wrapped memories; her friend.

 

©Davey Northcott 2014

Check out my latest novel, ‘The Path Through the Eye of Another’, available on amazon:

‘The Path Through the Eye of Another’

Memories Lost

A pastel smudge of colour
Paints a watered iris-eye,
An echo
Of a something almost lost;
Half remembered.
What do you remember, eye?
What have you seen,
Eye?
A pupil of a life
Arduous and long, now
Lies in forgotten recesses
Of a dusty mind’s shelf.
And when I speak to you
You hear me; do you listen,
Though?
And when you speak to me,
I hear you, too.
But am I listening?
A cyclical repetition
To enrage a saddened shrine to
Age and Me; I am saddened too.
And My memories are all that remain now.
For yours, I cannot find anymore.
A sudden flash illuminates your
Loch-like expanse
What are you recalling now,
Eye?
Excitement flushes through
Me, a chance of you,
And we smile for a while
Before the vinyl scratch
Screams out its domination
Once more.
And the eye is again
As a pastel, a dim-washed
Colour, nothing more
Again.

 

©Davey Northcott March 2014

Written as a memory for someone who had lost theirs …

Dreams …

Tree reflections

Orange of night time sleeping,

Beckoning into my abyss,

Takes me journeys through fields of gold,

Time falling back, like a leaf grown old.

Riddles of life,

Pictures of love,

Past present futures unfold.

Drawing me in, to tumble and spin.

Picking up pieces, flying on a whim.

Bringing me through my boat on a sea, to

Drift until flood-light awakens for me.

©Davey Northcott February 2014