Reflections

Sixty one years and tears still prick my eyes
when I read that poem. I succumb to
sentiment too easily – even though I wrote
the blessed thing not all that long ago.

I never meant it be an elegy but it is
the way it appears, a dirge to memories,
a eulogy to dreams still rich and powerful,
a place of poignancy and peace.

I try to craft in verses I create dynamic
things that breathe and reeve with fire and
brimstone in their eyes; that one I know escaped
my pen, hid amongst the quieter themes.

I cannot touch it now, it’s earned the right
to live in peace along the riverbank, beside it’s
gentle stream, to echo with the murmurings
of ages past and the loss of our loved parenting.
© I.D. Carswell 2006

Reflections on the poem: 

My Father Was The Riverbank (rev)