Sunday, 23 April 2017

A bridge to forever

Dedication: For Klair and Russell on their wedding day, 15th April 2017.

Build a bridge to forever, walk over it together,
there’s no better endeavour for you to undertake.
Stride out on this journey, just see where it goes.
Together you’ll tackle whatever life throws.

Understand that occasionally one will move slow.
Understand that always the other will know
whether to wait with arms open or to walk back and say
‘I’m with you, as always, each step of the way’.

No problem’s so great that it can’t be talked through,
Keep understanding each other the way you now do.
Remember the good times, remember each laugh,
Don’t make anger and sadness love’s epitaph.

Your route may detour, it may not always be straight,
But your love will guide you through as you navigate
the diversions, the obstacles that may rise in your way.
Your love will guide you each step of the way.

You’ll have fun days in the sun, snug days in the snows,
Special moments to treasure that no one else knows.
So rise every morning and greet love anew
Join hands and together see all your days through.

© Sheila Ash 2nd April 2017

Sunday, 2 April 2017

Loneliness lies hidden

Lying in a crate of dusty odd ends
One Royal Wedding mug, four Poole plates, a Pyrex bowl, and me.
Newsprint of the masses - the Daily Mail - wraps them up,
Enclosed within my own space
Little has changed. My colours have not faded with the years;
I have not cracked in my splendid isolation;
No chips on my shoulder. Nonetheless
Exclusion and rejection are hard to bear.
Snubbed by those who did not understand my shape and strong colours.
Safe from careless children’s hands, closeted in my own box that Clarice designed for me.

Light never got a chance to diminish my no longer fashionable brightness. I’m pristine,
Only it’s not how it should have been. There should have been
Numerous years of service
Earning kudos for the great Cafés,
Living with numerous cups and saucers, plates decked with cakes,
Indulged by silverware, by cosies, hot water and first flush Darjeeling teas.
Not left, forgotten, unwanted, uncared for as the years passed by.
Empty, cold, unloved.
Sitting my days out in my box. Discarded, disregarded.
Stuck up in the attic, unrecognised, unnoticed.

Entering a charity shop? Do they think I’m fake?
Not even an auction house! How degrading,
Demeaning. But still the real thing I remain. Me .

© Sheila Ash 2nd April 2017