May Eased into my Confused World

Terry TrainorStarred Page By Terry Trainor, 3rd Oct 2013 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL http://nut.bz/26c25fpu/
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Poetry

It's a bit complicated, but it's about a boy with an unhappy childhood. The boy turns to nature and the beauty of nature to take his mind off his problems. As he grows old he begins to think about those times and would like the opportunity to go back in time to leave his younger self a message that these bad times would pass. And somehow a tiny door is opened and the old man leaves the message. He keeps the message to his dying day.

When I was a Boy

When I was a boy, May eased into my confused world opening her heavy golden gates,
Warm days eased my life and sweetened problems, all erased by her mighty beauty,
A springtime landscape of magnificence with wonderful scenes repainted, re-gilded,
Drawing open her veil, she led me into her majestic gardens to play and be happy.

Meadows of strong green grass bend with late March winds but the grass is strong,
Uncombed hair whipped around my ears, flicked my eyelashes and blinded my view,
Nature playing games with a sad, lonely, lost little soul, giving me her garden,
Seasons understand everything, they see, hear, they have been here for all time.

A garden full of trees, white, heavy with blossom, streams boiling over green rocks,
All around is carpeted with myriads of mosses, flowers, each playing a starring role,
Breezes diffuse the most sweet and heady odors, smells that will haunt me forever,
The sun spreads his beams across the bluest of skies, he looks down, all is well.

In my Rear Garden


These days I sit in my rear garden, an old man, in the autumn years of a long life,
In a country lane sits a shadow of a man, shouldering a scythe, he gives a friendly wave,
He waits for a man to tell a long story, he understands my memories, they must be right,
He is a figure that used to scare me but not now, he will be my last, but very good friend.

Sitting in the shade of an old crab apple tree, my eyes pass by real time and I go back,
Back to my youth where the sun is so bright I cannot lift my head it burns my bare neck,
Powerful sunbeams brighten the clefts in hills, forests, warming damp hidden thickets,
The day warms rivers, serene lakes that will one day be gone as our population grows.

This was my garden, if I chose to sink to my knees, bow my head, cry, it was my choice,
There were strict rules, nobody points or laughs at suffering, ignorance stayed well away,
A nightingale, might fly down singing the most beautiful song ever sung, in my world,
He was my guardian, a friend who understood all, bright clear eyes I will never forget.

Lime Trees with Sweeping Branches


It is a warm morning I rub my chin with the back of my leathery old hand on my stubble,
A three day shadow under my chin, it rasped against my hand like a file on hard wood,
I can feel and see everything so clear, it is like going back round again to days gone by,
And my dark friend waits patiently in the shadows, this time a little nearer, I feel at ease.

My thoughts of the past are very strong, all around me are hues of perfect amber green,
Sitting in my garden I can touch the past, beautiful limes with their sweeping branches,
I see a child in knee deep grass full of flowers, sycamores, humming full of honey bees,
If I could just reach out and talk to the boy, tell him that his misery will not last forever.

In my young days life was hard, my father a nasty drunk my mother too scared to speak,
The hardest thing about cruelty is never knowing what to expect, when it would strike,
Never able to relax, hearing drunken brawls shouting at night, and screaming hatred.
My mind took me to a rosy vale by a noble river, to a willow island guarded by swans.

Memories of Peace


In my world away from home
nature was my castle, all was calm, safe and beautiful,
Ditches filled with calthas, kingcups of emerald green, golden blossoms and cardamine,
Rich colours, each had such lovely flowers, they have lived on in my mind to this day,
Memories of peace in country glades made me strong it was my broad sword, my hope.

When I did not want to go home I went to my special place, just to sit and look around,
Primroses welcomed me from across the commons, they would just smile and say hello,
Sometimes there would be a thousand nightingales singing sweetly from fairy forests,
The cuckoo heard across the Mead's and fallow fields, this place was my real home.

The sun disappears a shadow blocks my light, and as I focus it is my lovely smiling wife,
She puts a cup of coffee, and a biscuit on the small round table next to my outside chair,
It breaks the spell and I am back to my seat under the crab apple tree my eyes moist, sad,
She is my love, my friend my guardian, my courage and my nightingale she knows it all.

In the Woods


In the bad days
my mother would tell me to go, to sleep in the woods, keep out the way,
I had an old carpet up there in a well hidden thicket I would roll myself up and feel safe,
My friends of the nighttime woods sat in branches and watched out for me, they cared,
As the morning sun lifted itself on to the horizon my birds woke me softly as they sang.

Pools and streams white with the water ranunculus, foxglove leaves are strong and firm,
Insects flitting about visiting flowers and humming over warm land, a butterfly is out,
It is a red black spotted butterfly basking in the warmth on a stony, dusty old footpath,
Elevating and depressing its wings as if drinking every spore of sun and the spirit of life.

The ichneumon flies are busy and alert, they have renewed fire, happiness in their veins,
Gossamer is seen in this season covering grass with its films of silken cottony threads,
By the foot paths the common currant is beautiful its pendant racemes still with flower,
In days long ago I could not have named but a handful of flowers, I can now name all.

Names are Names Only


But who cares, names are names only, if something warms your heart does it matter?
If you met a stranger and sat talking would he be a better person if his name was known?
Some people I would trust with my life after few words, some I know I’d just walk away,
Beautiful people roam this world, to meet such a person would enrich a lifetime forever.

Left alone in my chair under the apple tree my heart and eyes go into a fifty yard stare,
Staring back to my past, the feeling is so strong, I believe time has turned back my clock,
I can hear the sound of a clear brook running fast and furious it’s like a runaway train,
It twists and turns catching the sun, its reflection hurts your eyes, you cannot look away.

Again I can see the boy in long green grass, staring at some of the dear old cowslips,
He sits down by a hawthorn, bursting into flower, breathing air that is sweet and fresh,
Things, so real I call out his name he looks, then back to bank and the rushing water,
He sits by foaming water, near grass and blossom, listening to birds from each bough.

A Bird in a cage

I remember a poem I once wrote, it was short but it had a huge effect on how things are,
It was about a little bird caught in a cage, its cage up against a wall, dreaming of its past,
It could remember the joys of flying through woods and all his friends from the forest,
This poem played on my mind it upset me so much I rewrote the poem to free the bird.

So here we are again back into my past, to my refuge, in the woods I loved so dearly,
There the lesser butcher bird, the cockchafer and a host of many other unseen birds sing,
The woods were warm, meadow saxifrage mingled amongst a sea of beautiful bluebells,
In this sea of blue a wind brushing the bells against my legs is a memory of memories.

Again so near I can smell rhododendrons, laburnums, lilacs, wisterias and yellow broom,
Grass under my feet is cool and long, I touch the blossom of a late flowering apple tree,
I carve a message on a small board of hardwood, ‘be strong, it will all go away one day,’
And placed it by flattened grass at the riverside, under green apples hanging overhead.

Maybe a Nightingale will Sing

Sitting remembering woods at bluebell time, my eyes well, a lump forms in my throat,
My friend puts his hand gently onto my shoulder, gives a gentle squeeze it is my time,
Flowers of the fields and forests must accompany me, as I am going back to my home,
To lay down with my friends that cared for me, maybe a nightingale will sing a last song.

My wife stays behind to say a last goodbye and tidies flowers, she’s always very neat,
She takes a trowel and digs holes to plant some spring bulbs and places a small font,
She stands looking over the plot making sure everything is in its correct place, as always,
She remembers my lucky hardwood board, lays it down in pride of place on the ground.

It Reads, 'Be strong, it will all go away one day.'

moderator Mark Gordon Brown moderated this page.
If you have any complaints about this content, please let us know

Comments

author avatar Stella Mitchell
3rd Oct 2013 (#)

Just LOVELY dear friend ...just lovely .
God bless you
Stella ><

Reply to this comment

author avatar Terry Trainor
3rd Oct 2013 (#)

Thank you Stella my dear friend.

Reply to this comment

author avatar Terry Trainor
3rd Oct 2013 (#)

Thank you Mark

Reply to this comment

author avatar LOVERME
3rd Oct 2013 (#)

i think u deserve the stars they give u ..
your prosaic poetry
and
photography r wonderful

Reply to this comment

author avatar Terry Trainor
4th Oct 2013 (#)

Thanks my dear friend

Reply to this comment

author avatar Mark Gordon Brown
3rd Oct 2013 (#)

Very melancholy, nice poem, good imagery as always.

Reply to this comment

author avatar Terry Trainor
4th Oct 2013 (#)

Thanks Mark

Reply to this comment

author avatar Mariah
3rd Oct 2013 (#)

So so good Terry, I applaud
your presentation,
writing, images and music..
awesome .
Thank you

Reply to this comment

author avatar Terry Trainor
4th Oct 2013 (#)

Thank you my dear friend

Reply to this comment

author avatar Delicia Powers
4th Oct 2013 (#)

Terry this stunning poetry is the open door to that bird cage- freeing your heart...and Terry it soars...beyond beautiful my dear friend....

Reply to this comment

author avatar Terry Trainor
4th Oct 2013 (#)

You are so kind my dear friend thank you very much.

Reply to this comment

author avatar Mariah
4th Oct 2013 (#)

What a beautiful thing to say
Delicia...so true

Reply to this comment

author avatar Terry Trainor
4th Oct 2013 (#)

Thank you as well my dear friend.

Reply to this comment

author avatar cnwriter..carolina
5th Oct 2013 (#)

love your nature pages Terry...this is superb...

Reply to this comment

author avatar Terry Trainor
5th Oct 2013 (#)

Thank you my dear friend

Reply to this comment

author avatar LOVERME
11th Oct 2013 (#)

I CAME by
I thought I had not read this but ...
why I came by?
you asked cnn what will on 19 October happen ...
your a Libra friend the world appreciates you to no end
23 Sep CUSPY
LIBRA...
what year my friend
post it as a message to me and ur time of birth too see ...
what I can tell you none else can ever do JUST WAIT AND SEE

Reply to this comment

author avatar Kingwell
11th Oct 2013 (#)

I often return to my childhood in memory. I have much now that I could tell that boy of so long ago. I just loved reading this. Blessings.

Reply to this comment

author avatar Terry Trainor
20th Oct 2013 (#)

Thank you Kingwell.

Reply to this comment

author avatar Sivaramakrishnan A
14th Oct 2013 (#)

I thought your poetry will go on and on but all good things also have to end! Fantastic images too to illuminate your verse and also great music, thanks Terry for an epic! siva

Reply to this comment

author avatar Terry Trainor
20th Oct 2013 (#)

Thanks for reading Siva.

Reply to this comment

Add a comment
Username
Can't login?
Password