I’d turn back time
(If only I could)
For I’ve a bag full of conkers
which I found in the wood
Recalling the days
of muddied scuffed knees
Long days in the sunshine
and the climbing of trees
‘Borrowing’ a skewer
from the kitchen drawer
when stringed conkers in pocket
was what life was for
We threw sticks to the branches
to see what would fall
and the thrill of the find
was just part of it all
The full moon rises,
Glistening like a fresh silver dollar
As Mother Earth lets off steam
And unbuttons her stifling collar
To feel the breeze of the Sun’s departure.
Eagerly I wait at the window
For my moon to come home,
So I can feel the breeze of his sigh
As he sits on his leathery black throne
And watches me with contentment from on high.
Your dreams do not predict the future,
Be relieved they process the past
So you can function this morning.
Your fear still burns
The sweet blood in your veins,
It contaminates your heart.
When I was born, the Cosmos was young.
It’s exponential growth had scarcely begun.
As an infant, I learned to always ask, “Why?”
And the universe expanded with each reply.
Across the island of knowledge I began to crawl
And found not an edge or end, but endless sprawl.
Until, I heard something I knew was absurd.
Even though people called scientists avidly concurred
That the Cosmos was finite and several billion years old,
Who were they to limit what my universe could hold?
When, contrary to the revered “intellectuals’” thinking,
Visceral evidence told me, the Cosmos was shrinking.
Poet's Corner 