breadcrumbs

by Chris Lawrence

by Chris Lawrence

 

even the pigeons did not come

sandstone witness

to the empty bench,

he had fallen

been in hospital,

children fretted and nursed,

she had no one

almost homeless aged forgotten,

they spoke at the bench

smile with long memory

a life known and understood,

her smile of crooked dentures

and whiskery chin,

those eye still had reality and youth,

at eighty two it is hard

to find love was strange,

unusual to most people,

yet as hospital tubes gave sustenance

she had lain in her armchair

ragged flat

no gas fire

no tv

and lived in afterlife

found by police

through splintered door

it would be hard to explain

yet the bench remained

 

 

Butterblonde Butterflies

sharing this the first poem i sent out over 4 years ago as i was developing my style so i know it is not perfect but me being me i am an open book all the best for 2013 everyone.

Butterblonde Butterflies

butterblonde butterflies

float on rancid air,

kiss the roses,hollyhocks

geraniums too.

sweep Pontiac bonnets

with iridescent hue.

chase clotted rain and bitter

mocha earth.

diamonds and welfare

each made for you.

butterblonde butterflies

eat the silence

swallow the pain.

i am the ghost

or is it in vein.

Waiting In Line

frosted lens one secret eye,

it’s time almost gone,

other vibrant blue watery,

she waited to be served

packaged meals enough for

a few days,

tremors with age

cellular collapse,

life’s abrupt stoop to spine,

coat drawn snug,

cold reaches more easily

through mottled paper,

her turn,

trolley a support to feet

more unsteady than an infant,

red leather handbag

leather fashion for forty years

cracked and glazed,

pleased to talk to the assistant

juddering conversation,

sprawled out topics of conversation

no linear trail,

topics of weather,

her husband passed twenty years,

lack of pension,

always broke,

children dispersed seed unconnected

and when she was younger

flew planes in the Pacific

a job few knew of,

no government medal,

yet she offered her life

as she did now to survival,

gnarled arthritic hands

struggled with notes and coins

tomorrow a fragile

premise