i knew your real name

I knew your real name

I knew your real name, we all did,

But I never used it, seems lame and you weren’t one that hid,

At 3 o clock in the morning, in a dark field,

As you poked the embers, waiting on a foal that wouldn’t yield,

We christened you did my pal sonny and I,

Forever more to be called Winnie,

You were so very young back then, to be out watching horses,

Waiting on some mare to drop her foal, and I’d say horses for courses,

We’d laugh wait till dawn, telling jokes or lies, whichever sounded best,

Time went by really slowly, who knew that life would force you, to the ultimate test,

Yet there you were, sat with the best of our time, around the camp fire,

Never complained, never moaned you were tired,

Time passed and life goes by, but everyone knew your name,

Those who didn’t, made me smile, as they asked us to explain?

But how do you explain friendship and a good heart?

For all who knew you Winnie, you will never depart,

I remember you poking the embers with a broken stick,

Eyes wide open you never missed a trick,

Gone now to that great fire in the sky,

Urging lost friends not to cry,

The fight is over, your time sadly has come,

There will never be another you, no one,

I knew your real name, I will recall it fondly to my end,

You were our very own Winnie Clark, to so many, a true friend,

(rip Maureen)

today there is light

Today there is light?

As I awake each morning, I pray there is light,

Shining on all, with struggle in life,

Brightening the day, sharing delight,

Sadly I awake, to a morning of strife,

During the night, someone has fallen,

And news travels fast, in this modern age,

By their own or others hand, death came a calling,

Social media has filled, everyone’s page,

Condolences passed, from one to the other,

Is it true, did you hear, there is someone now dead?

Yet no one has called to a father or mother,

Some will never return, to the safety of bed,

And faster it goes, Instagram or twitter,

Gaining momentum, as the stories get bolder,

Some, trawling get sarcastic and bitter,

Yet someone lying dead, will not get any older,

Forgotten are times, when a thing called respect,

Made you wait, until confirmation was had,

Circumstances were given, whether natural or suspect,

For death leaves behind, those grieving and sad,

We have warriors now, who a keyboard stroke,

Write everything down, as it comes to mind,

From the most serious times, to trivia or a joke,

Still total loss, is all, that’s left behind,

Yes, share the good times, be honest have fun,

The internet cares nothing, for those suffering in pain,

Give the keyboard a rest, learn to walk not to run,

Being the first to post, shows nothing to gain,

Today there is light, but for some, less so,

Sadness falls upon them, there is no delight,

Their day is darker they have nothing to share,

And the keyboard warriors, will never, ever, care.

1969 mothers view

1969

Up at the crack of dawn, pot on the stove,

Cigarette, hanging from her lower lip,

Awaiting the arrival of the morning shove,

Thirteen crew in all, aboard her ship,

Each one trying to gain any or all advantage,

Breakfast ready, she championed the large pot,

Soon they would run mid-morning rampage,

Fed, each in various bowls porridge for her lot,

For years most resented having to eat the gruel,

Not thinking, she was up each morning at the crack of dawn,

She made them eat it, forced it, seemingly cruel,

At times resentment for her set in, on faces she saw,

She knew she could have done better, more even,

She also knew she didn’t know how,

As long as it was better for them,

Without so many row’s,

Thirteen crew and all with different view’s,

Growing so fast it hurt her eyes,

So fast they had their own crews,

Prayed they would see, their captain tries,

Up each morning at the crack of dawn,

Fed each of us every morn,

We ran as far as we could, avoiding her glare,

How I wish we could have her now, here.