To Go Or Not To Go.
There's a fun fair
on the bombsite
off Meadow Row
you told Fay
that Friday
on the way home
from school
and she said
I can only come
if my daddy's out
he thinks
all such things
are sinful
and if he
caught me there
he'd beat me for sure
Ok
you said
and let it dropp
and walked on
beside her
the afternoon heat
making you sweat
and then she said
I will try
to come if I can
and she looked sad
and her pale features
seemed even paler
and her eyes searched you
and you said
I hope you can
but if not another time
when the fair returns
and you both paused
at the kerb
as traffic rushed by
and her thin hand
reached out
and held yours
her fingers
touched yours
her thumb rubbing
against your thumb
and when the traffic stopped
because of the change of lights
you walked across the road
still hand in hand
she just a few steps behind
a case of
(as her father
often said)
the blind
leading the blind.
poem by Terry Collett
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Related quotes
Not An Answer Why.
Fay managed to get out
while her father worked
and she came
and knocked at your door
and said
You want to go out?
Sure
you replied
and you both went down
the stairs of the apartment block
across the Square
and down the slope
up Meadow Road
crossing over
the bombsite
behind the coal wharf
and on to the main road
where you walked along
side by side
Let's see what's on
at the movies
you said
and you stopped outside
the movie house
and peered at the programmes
Fay said
My daddy doesn't think
movies are right for children
he says they're sinful
and full of lust
and sex
and greed
and she stopped
and stared along the road
at the people passing
and the cars and lorries
going by
on the main road
and the evening air
choked up with fumes
and the street lights
giving a false perspective
It isn't all like that
you said
Some movies are about love
and laughter
and people enjoy going
it takes them out
of their dreary lives
Fay said
I've never been
inside a movie house
never seen a movie
Well why don't you come with me
to the matinee on Saturday
I can squeeze some money
from my dad for the two of us
Fay looked at you
and seemed interested
but then said
No I can't
if my father caught me
there'd be hell to pay
and apart from the lecture
on the immorality
of the arts and such
he'd belt me some
and not let me out again
for some time
and you said
Ok but some day
you're going to find out
things aren't always
as the parents say
then you're going to
have to find your own road
and walk your own way
and she looked sad
and walked away
from the movie house
along to the subway
and down the steps
into the bright lights
and noise of traffic
over head
and you touched her hand
and she gripped yours
and you walked down
through the subway tunnel
she in her flowered dress
and brown shoes
slightly scuffed
and you
in your tee shirt and jeans
and you pretended
not to notice
the bruise on her thigh
which caught your eye
as she skipped along
her dress rising high
as she went holding tight
your hand
her fingers wrapped
about yours
and up and out
on the other side
of the subway
with its bright lights
and evening sky
and too many questions
and not an answer why.
poem by Terry Collett
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Fay and You and the Ruler.
Fay met you
on your way home
from school
standing by the entrance
of Meadow Row
she was in her school uniform
a satchel
over a shoulder
how was school?
she asked
boring and the day
too long
you replied
but at least
you can learn things
she said
like how
to make a candle
holder in woodwork?
finding some river
in India
I'll never see?
you said
she smiled shyly
well maybe you will
she said
how are you?
you asked
ok
she replied
got told off
by Sister Bernard
for not having a ruler
what did you do
with your ruler?
you asked
lost it
she said
ah well
there you are
you said
naughty naughty
she walked on
down Meadow Row
and you walked
beside her
actually
she said quietly
my daddy took it
she stood still
and stared at you
he beat me
with it
she said
in a whisper
you looked
into her eyes
and saw your
reflection there
two yous
staring back
why?
you asked
taking in her paleness
her fair hair tied
in a ponytail
he said l hadn't done
my jobs properly
jobs?
you asked
around the house
helping my mum
and did you? help?
yes usually
but I forgot
this time
big crime
you said
won't he give
the ruler back?
no
she said
he said he will keep it
as a lesson to me
can't you buy
a new one?
you asked
I haven't any money
she said
you can have
one of mine
you said
I have plenty at home
can I borrow one?
you can have one
she smiled weakly
her eyes lit up
and she took one
of your hands
and held it
I'll have to hide it though
she said
or he'll take
that one too
quite a guy your dad
you said
she looked away
at the bombed out houses
on the left hand side
you saw her hurt
and sadness
some things you can't hide.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Touch Of Your Hand
On the day that you were born
I touched your hand so chubby and warm.
I touched your hand when you were one
and helped you walk my beautiful son.
I held your hand when you were two.
We ran, your favorite thing to do.
I held your hand when you were three
as you climbed on my lap and smiled at me.
I touched your hand when you were four
as the ocean touched our toes at the shore.
I touched your hand when you were five
walking you to school but when we'd arrive
I felt the tug of your hand from mine
and I knew that we had crossed a line.
I looked at you and released your hand
and said'it's okay I understand.'
As I walked back home I cried some tears
thinking of all our hand holding years.
Holding your hand became sporadic now,
when you were feverish or I felt your brow.
I held your hand a few times as a teen
but always alone so it wouldn't be seen.
I held your hand after you said, 'I do.'
We danced together just me and you.
After some years went by my son
you held the hand of your little one.
And so the times of your life turn around
and now that my hand is old I've found
you take my hand and help me walk
and as you do we intimately talk.
And it takes me back to that bright early morn
when I held your hand so chubby and warm.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Wasp Man
Under my thumb's the girl who once had me down
Under my thumb's the girl who once pushed me around
It's down to me, the diff'rence in the clothes she wears
It's down to me, the change has come, she's under my thumb
Under my thumb's a squirming dog who's just had her day
Under my thumb's a girl who has just changed her ways
It's down to me, the way she does what she's told
It's down to me, the change has come, she's under my thumb
Under my thumb's a Siamese cat of a girl
Under my thumb she's the sweetest pet in the world
It's down to me, the way she does what she's told
It's down to me, the change has come, she's under my thumb
Under my thumb her eyes are just kept to herself
Under my thumb, well, I can still look at someone else
It's down to me, the way she talks when she's spoken to
It's down to me, the change has come, she's under my thumb
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bombsite Walk
Fay walked with you
across the bombsite
off Meadow Row
the bombed out houses
like decaying teeth
in an old jaw
if Daddy saw me here
he'd spank me
she said
looking over the site
where weeds grew
in cracks and over
once backyards
and living rooms
there's no danger
if you step careful
you said
Daddy says
it's walking on the dead
Fay uttered
looking at you
sideways on
her hands raised at her sides
as if learning to fly
all things born
will some day die
you said
standing on a broken wall
come on let's go in
the haunted house
or so it seems
you laughed reaching out
for her hand to bring her forth
she hesitated
looked around
fearing her daddy's
beady eyes
then took
your hand
and followed in
the semi dark
of bombed out room
it stinks of piss
you muttered
she giggled and set her foot
on bricks and stony floor
what if it all falls in?
she asked
looking up at the sky
through cracks and holes
her hand felt warm in yours
her fingers curled
around your own
it's just adventure
you said
you got to take a few risks
we're a long time dead
and her eyes widened
and stared
and she whispered
I'm scared
and clung to you
what do think
the people here thought
when the bombs fell
and they hadn't made the shelters
or didn't know
you said
she shrugged
her narrow shoulders
and bit her lip
my mother said
all they found
of her neighbours' child
was a blown off hand
don't tell me
Fay said
I will dream of that now
sorry I shouldn't have said
you uttered
feeling her fingers
grip your arm
her thin nails
marking skin
let's go out
she said
and off she went
dragging you behind
out into the sunshine
she looking to see
if her daddy'd seen
her sinful tread
but for you
looking back
it was just an adventure
on land of the dead.
poem by Terry Collett
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We Walked Together In The Night
We walked together in the night
Hand in hand, intertwined
It was like a magical dream
I just couldn't believe
We walked together in the night
My heart raced on as if I might die
You calmed me down and told me everything would be alright
We walked together in the night
Just you and I
You held my hand, you held me close
You protected me, and kept me safe
We walked together in the night
That night was the best time of my life
Time I spent with you
We walked together in the night
We're just best friends....
But does this date mean anything?
We walked together in the night
We laughed, We played
We were nervous, We were afraid
What might happen after this night?
We walked together in the night
You took me out to the movies
You took me back to my house
Everything was perfect then
Until I ruined it...
I walked away with tears in my eyes.....I ruined it
I walked back home alone that night...because we weren't ready to date just yet
poem by Starrbox Munoz
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Winter Musing
And the December weather
was upon you and the winter
evenings were drawing in and
she wanted to hold your hand
as you walked home after getting
off the school bus and the cold
air bit into flesh and you held her
hand and sensed the pulse in her
and the life there and the skin
on skin thing and some kind of
electrical buzz through your veins
and into your heart and head and
the traffic went by fast pushing up
wet from the road and you remember
the black tarmac then and her years
later by cruel cancer dragged dead.
poem by Terry Collett
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Helen and You and The ABC Cinema
In the evening after tea
of bread and jam
and a glass of milk
you went out
and met Helen
under the railway bridge
in Rockingham Street
next to the Duke
of Wellington pub
and she was waiting
there looking up
and down the street
and when she saw you
she waved and walked
towards you
where's your doll
Battered Betty?
you asked
mum's washing her clothes
and I didn't want
to bring her out
with nothing on
she said
no that wouldn't be decent
you said
where are we going?
she asked
I want to show you
the passages behind
the ABC cinema
you said
it's like a cavern
of dark passages
and once I saw a rat
running along by a wall
oh god
she said
putting a hand
to her mouth
not a rat
yes it run along
one of the walls
not sure
I want to go there
she said softly
one little rat
isn't going to hurt you
you said
besides I'll chase it away
if it comes
will you?
she said
yes of course I will
nothing is going to harm you
while I am here
you said
you showed her
the toy gun
tucked in
the inside pocket
of your jacket
she nodded
and she took
your hand
and you walked her
along and up behind
the Trocodero cinema
and onto
the New Kent Road
and you crossed quickly
before the traffic lights changed
and once you got
to the other side
you took her
to the ABC cinema
and went down beside
the cinema walls
along the dark passages
that went on beside
and behind the cinema
all the time
she gripped your hand
and now and then
her grip tightened
when she thought
she saw something
out of the corner
of her eye
what was that?
she said
stopping still
clutching your hand tight
just a piece of paper
blown by the wind
are you sure?
yes just paper
she untightened
her grip
and you both
walked on
with the sound
of traffic and voices
in the distance
and at the back
of the cinema
you came to an entrance
where two doors where
and you said
sometimes the doors are open
and you can sneak in free
she looked at you
her eyes behind
her thick lens glasses
large and innocent
is that allowed?
she asked
no
you replied
if they catch you
you get into trouble
but if you're lucky
you can get in
no trouble
you said
oh
she said
my mum wouldn't like it
if I got into trouble
we won't get in tonight
anyway
you said
the doors are locked
another time maybe
and she gripped
your hand
and her face looked shocked.
poem by Terry Collett
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Summer 62 And You
That’s the last of school
for a while
she said
as you both descended
the school bus
and walked home
with her sister and yours
walking a small distance behind
any chance you could meet me later?
you asked
have to see
if Mother wants me
to do chores
she replied
maybe after?
you asked
she sighed
and looked up
at the late
afternoon sky
you caught her profile
and the way her cheek
was so kissable
and yet you didn’t
you just stared
have to see
won’t we
don’t want her
getting in one
of her moods
you walked on
in silence awhile
then she said
maybe able
to sneak out tomorrow
and see you
by the old pond
and you smiled
and you said
sure that’d be nice
but no funny business
she said
looking you
in the eyes
as if I would
you said
well Mother thinks you would
she muttered
looking away
so that her eyes
captured the horizon
and held it there
and you said
frankly Sweetie
I don’t give a dam or care
and she smiled and said
oh so very Clark Gable
and you both laughed
and she grabbed
your hand
and whispered
she just don’t understand.
poem by Terry Collett
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What Others May Think.
Apart from the water tower
and the farm
and a few scattered cottages
there were no other buildings
for a mile or more
just you and Jane
and birds in the early morning sky
I like it at this time of day
she said
I like the fresh smell of nature
and the farm
and having few people about
you walked beside her down the lane
that led away from the farm
you noticed how her black hair
seemed freshly washed
and blew slightly in the mild wind
does you father mind
you being out with me?
you asked softly
he doesn't know
she replied
he thinks I came out alone
for a morning walk
why didn't you tell him?
you asked
he was busy writing his Sunday sermon
and it was easier to just go out
and not disturb him
she said looking around at you
her eyes studying you
as she walked on down the lane
would he mind you being with me?
you asked
I don't think he knows you as yet
seeing as you have only moved here
a few months and don't come
to the church
you stopped and took her hand in yours
it was warm and soft
and pulsed with life
she looked at your hand
holding hers and she rubbed
her thumb over the back
of your hand
you wanted to kiss her lips
or cheek just to feel
her flesh on yours
but you didn't you just looked at her
and waited to see
what she would do next
she let go of your hand
and looked around her
there might be people looking
from those cottages up there
she said suddenly pointing up
at the rising bank which went up
to two cottages high up
if they see us they may tell Father
and then it would be awkward
and he might suspect things
and then she went quiet
and looked at the running stream
by the lane
but we haven't done anything
we just walk out and talk
and hold hands now and then
it's not what we do
it's what others think we do
she said softly
and stood looking at you
waiting for you to speak
but you said nothing
just leaned in close to her
and kissed her cheek
and said
even Christ permitted kisses
even the one from Judas
and she smiled
and the early morning sun
pushed through trees
and shone on her hair
and there was the sound of birds
singing in the air.
poem by Terry Collett
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A Man Walks The Streets
That old man near the traffic light
Was expelled from home at midnight.
He walked away steady on his feet.
And made his home on Delhi streets.
My driver whispered in a resigned tone.
I looked up putting down my mobile phone.
He carried on his shoulder a jute bag,
And in his hand a clean yellow rag.
As the traffic light blushed red,
The driver to stop compelled.
The old man near the traffic light,
Asked the driver –may I wipe?
He had a gentle voice and even stride,
Erect back and manner polite and mild.
Now this was his new means of livelihood,
He hoped to be paid to pay for some food.
Sahibs waved him away on their way
Down town, gearing for charades and play.
A little girl offered the man her lunch box.
Their eyes met, he looked flummoxed.
I lost my grandpa early last summer,
He went without having his supper.
You remind me somewhat of him.
Although a bit thin, she grinned.
They laughed, tears in their eyes
He took it with a bow she waved bye.
She turned and called back, Dadu
Will you be here tomorrow too?
The old man near the traffic light
Said, sure dear, I’ll be here all right.
Turned heavenwards, saw a bird alight
A rainbow walked the earth in day light?
He unabashedly cried, cried and cried,
‘I had thought my tear glands had dried’.
He wiped his face on his shirt sleeve,
A rainbow on a dreary day, I sure do believe.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Something Better Beginning
They said this was the last dance
The lights went dim as I looked round the floor
Then I saw you standing there
Then I walked up to you and I asked for this dance
The band had started to play
I held you hand and I sighed
Is this the start of another heart breaker
Or something better beginning
Something better beginning
Something better beginning
I never thought Id love like this until I met you
I found something I thought Id never had
The only time I feel all right is when Im with you
I wonder how long it will last
I walked you home in the night
The moon shone bright as we walked hand in hand
Ive known this joy once before
But it came to an end just as it had began
Each step that I took with you
Brought one thing closer to my mind
Is this the start of another heart breaker
Or something better beginning
Something better beginning
Something better beginning
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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South Beach 2000
It was the year 1999,
traveling with a virgin
who complained all the time.
I told him lets celebrate
the millennium straight up like helium.
It was such a hoot,
I walked the beach,
was in photo & video shoots.
Yes, then we walked the street,
everyone was driving the beat.
Heard Madonna was there,
pissed off in her car because of
traffic everywhere.
Walking saying “Happy New Year”
to everyone,
having so much fun
on the millennium.
Then at corner I did stop
where photographer was
so I posed for a shot.
I told him me and Melodie
would be famous one day,
He shook my hand and walked away.
Written by Christina Sunrise Feb.21,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Scavenging For Coal
At the back
of the coal wharf
you and Fay
picked up coal pieces
that fell through
the iron railings
and put them
in an old bag from home
Fay looked
at her blackened fingers
and said
if my daddy sees
these fingers
and finds out
what I've been doing
he'll spank me
for sure
you gazed at her
beside you
and said
you can wash your hands
at my place
she looked around
at the bombsite behind you
the evening sun
slowly going down
behind the railway bridge
and nearby buildings
what if someone sees you
she asked
picking up these pieces?
no one worries about this
all the kids do it
you replied
my daddy says
it is evil to steal
she said
you put a black piece
of coal in the bag
and lifted it
to feel the weight
that's enough
you said
too much
and I won't be able
to carry it
Fay stood up
and looked around
at the darkening sky
you held the bag
in one hand
and scanned
the area around you
let's go
you said
and so you both
walked away
from the coal wharf
into Meadow Row
by the public house
where piano music played
and down towards
the flats
where you lived
and after climbing
the concrete stairs
to your landing
you opened the door
and put the bag
by the indoor
coal bunker
and showed Fay
where to wash her hands
turning on
the cold water tap
you both washed
your hands
with the red
Life Buoy soap
her hands near yours
her wet flesh
touching yours
the black water
running away
and another adventure
and another day.
poem by Terry Collett
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After School Walk
After lessons at junior school
coming down the bricks stairs
Helen said
can I walk home with you?
Sure
you replied
and she set off with you
along St George's Road
the traffic and smoke fumes
setting the scene
she in her school frock
and cardigan
and white ankle socks
beside you in your grey jacket
and grey short trousers
and she said
I don't usually walk home alone
but mum said I can walk home
with you save her coming along
to the school with the other kids
and pram with baby
you took in
her two plaits of hair
and thin framed glasses
with large lens
which made her eyes
larger than they were
her small hands
by her side
a small school bag
over her shoulder
and did you know
Janice likes you?
Her grandmother
told my mother
the other day
after school
but I like you better
do you like me?
she asked
you noticed
she had small white teeth
with a thin brace
along the top
sure I do
you replied
I like Janice too
but you I like more
and she smiled
and put her right hand
in yours and squeezed it
and you smiled
but hoped none
of the other boys around
noticed the hand holding
after all a tough boy
has a reputation to maintain
and as you squeezed
her hand back
clouds darkened
and it started
to piss with rain.
poem by Terry Collett
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In Mrs Clarke's Wake
Mrs Clarke pushed
her battered bassinet
between market stalls
not listening
to the stallholder's
shouts and calls
Helen walked behind her mother
as told holding your hand
So I know where you are
Mrs Clarke had said
you sensed
Helen's small hand
in yours
her seven year old skin
touching your
seven year old flesh
her thin fingers
encircling yours
We'll see if they've got
a school skirt
for you here
her mother said
turning back her head
Helen nodded
and you noticed
Helen's enlarged eyes
behind her thick lens
spectacles
searching her mother's
large behind waddling on
stopping now and then
beside stalls
picking up clothes
searching for a skirt or dress
grey and the right size
Helen whispered to you
putting her head
close to yours
Rice pudding for tea
when we get home
with red jam
and sugar too
if you want
and she smiled
and you said shyly
That's good
because I'm starving
she looked at your hand
in hers and said
Then we can play
mums and dads
and my dolls
can be our family
her mother stopped
and picked up a skirt
and held it up
to the light
then held it against
her daughter's waist
judging for size
and you watched
her mother's hands
red with washing
and cleaning
thinking and gauging
the size and cost
as you studying
Helen's hand in yours
like a soul lost.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Woman at the Crossroad Who Laughed
As I walked up the pavement, up the slight hill
to the traffic lights at the crossroads outside the station,
I saw her waiting to cross.
Or rather, I saw first, her laugh..
She held the hand of her son
as she exchanged words with a passing friend
and laughed..
and what I saw in her eyes, her whole face,
as she laughed, was that as she laughed -
(did she know this? How could I tell her, a stranger?
Lady, lady, at the crossroad of our lives,
I’m writing this poem for you now…)
as she laughed, while she laughed,
I saw that she was in touch, the whole of her,
with her deepest self – just that… all that…
and as I saw that self, which was
(Lady, are you reading this?)
the perfection of perfection, all that’s perfect…
it was as if – no, it was just so –
her self looked at me, and so
the perfect looked at the perfect;
herself and mine together laughed,
laughed at imperfection
and as the perfect looked, it saw perfection
spreading through my eyes from our shared self
so that her son was perfect; and her friend was perfect;
and all around us, every they and it were perfect..
(Lady, Lady, at the Cross’s foot,
was it like this for You?)
the light turned green. And we were free
to cross the road; and
free to live; and
free to laugh away illusion; and
free to be ourselves; forever,
in that time which is forever.
Lady, by my faith, this by my hand;
and with my life I do yet swear
upon my life, this to be true;
Lady, hear, in this my orison,
there are no sins
to be remembered.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Touch
For months my hand was sealed off
in a tin box. Nothing was there but the subway railings.
Perhaps it is bruised, I thought,
and that is why they have locked it up.
You could tell time by this, I thought,
like a clock, by its five knuckles
and the thin underground veins.
It lay there like an unconscious woman
fed by tubes she knew not of.
The hand had collapse,
a small wood pigeon
that had gone into seclusion.
I turned it over and the palm was old,
its lines traced like fine needlepoint
and stitched up into fingers.
It was fat and soft and blind in places.
Nothing but vulnerable.
And all this is metaphor.
An ordinary hand - just lonely
for something to touch
that touches back.
The dog won't do it.
Her tail wags in the swamp for a frog.
I'm no better than a case of dog food.
She owns her own hunger.
My sisters won't do it.
They live in school except for buttons
and tears running down like lemonade.
My father won't do it.
He comes in the house and even at night
he lives in a machine made by my mother
and well oiled by his job, his job.
The trouble is
that I'd let my gestures freeze.
The trouble was not
in the kitchen or the tulips
but only in my head, my head.
Then all this became history.
Your hand found mine.
Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot.
Oh, my carpenter,
the fingers are rebuilt.
They dance with yours.
They dance in the attic and in Vienna.
My hand is alive all over America.
Not even death will stop it,
death shedding her blood.
Nothing will stop it, for this is the kingdom
and the kingdom come.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Complete; Rising Crimson With Love
Do you remember the time we walked on the beach
to the sound of the surf as it beat at our feet
and the sun was rising crimson with love
as we walked hand in hand and flew like the doves.
Do you remember the feel of the wind in our hair
as we sat on the sands without any cares
and the tears in our eyes were for joy not for grief
as we sat and felt as one with the beach.
Do you remember the time we walked on the beach
to the sound of the surf as it beat at our feet
your heart was in mine and mine was in yours
as we walked hand in hand on those magical shores.
Do you remember the feel of the wind in our hair
as we sat on the sands without any cares
and we joined with the ocean that came to our feet
making us the beach and the ocean complete.
Do you remember the time we walked on the beach
with the healing, the feeling, of being at peace
the sand at our feet, the surf in our mind
an ocean of stillness in one heart that's combined.
Do you remember the feel of the wind in our hair
with our eyes full of stars our hearts without cares
and a sun that was rising crimson with love
as our souls were set free into the sky up above.
Do you remember the time we walked on the beach
to the sound of the surf as it beat at our feet
and the sun was rising crimson with love
as we walked hand in hand and flew like the doves.
poem by David Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Blind Rower
And since he rowed his father home,
His hand has never touched an oar.
All day he wanders on the shore,
And hearkens to the swishing foam.
Though blind from birth, he still could row
As well as any lad with sight;
And knew strange things that none may know
Save those who live without the light.
When they put out that Summer eve
To sink the lobster-pots at sea,
The sun was crimson in the sky;
And not a breath was in the sky;
The brooding, thunder-laden sky,
That, heavily and wearily,
Weighed down upon the waveless sea
That scarcely seamed to heave.
The pots were safely sunk; and then
The father gave the word for home:
He took the tiller in his hand,
And, in hi s heart already home,
He brought her nose round towards the land,
To steer her straight for home.
He never spoke,
Nor stirred again:
A sudden stroke,
And he lay dead,
With staring eyes, and lips off lead.
The son rowed on, and nothing feared:
And sometimes, merrily,
He lifted up his voice, and sang,
Both high and low,
And loud and sweet:
For he was ever gay at sea,
And ever glad to row,
And rowed as only blind men row:
And little did the blind lad know
That death was at his feet:
For still he thought his father steered;
Nor knew that he was all alone
With death upon the open sea.
So merrily, he rowed, and sang:
And, strangely on the silence rang
That lonely melody,
As, through the livid, brooding gloam,
By rock and reef, he rowed for home--
The blind man rowed the dead man home.
But, as they neared the shore,
He rested on his oar:
And, wondering that his father kept
So very quiet in the stern,
He laughed, and asked him if he slept;
And vowed he heard him snore just now.
Though, when his father spoke no word,
A sudden fear upon him came:
And, crying on his father's name,
With flinching heart, he heard
The water lapping on the shore;
And all his blood ran cold, to feel
The shingle grate beneath the keel:
And stretching over towards the stern,
His knuckle touched the dead man's brow.
But help was near at hand;
And safe he came to land:
Though none has ever known
How he rowed in, alone,
And never touched a reef.
Some say they saw the dead man steer--
The dead man steer the blind man home--
Though, when they found him dead,
His hand was cold as lead.
So, ever restless, to and fro,
In every sort of weather,
The blind lad wanders on the shore,
And hearkens to the foam.
His hand has never touched an oar,
Since they came home together--
The blind, who rowed his father home--
The dear, who steered his blind son home.
poem by Wilfred Wilson Gibson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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