An Awareness - ‘(Too Soon).’

 

 

     My hand is upon the old wooden table,

it is difficult to understand whether -

     my wrinkled and flaccid skin holds

greater awareness than the deeper of grain upon the wood.

 

     My hand is only known by the yellowing

and not the grey beneath as outstretched,

‘a kindred compass can foretell of journeys done,

     and journeys about to embark.’

 

     A tree upon a Scottish harbour knows of age,

knows of the clipper, and the skewer,

harkens the skipper taming all he sees as God.

 

     Yet,

          A look by the rings that cast his years

and knowing of ego and ‘how’ it is to be thoughtful

of taming nature,- the tree understands a solemnity

that presence of stars shares in friendship;-

     ‘how stupid the tall ones are?’

 

     I have known too,

as my fingers splay upon

the deep grain of weathered tree,

     the stars bare witness to yet another fallen

and yet grief is tiring so much;

     as the ‘Strath’ creaks and the formant makes

quarrel with time…………….and sorrow.

 

     Here, Brora knows of loss and knows of time,

knows the table can, and has outlived many

of high ideals who stole a gaze by star,

     Yet Brora knows it has always been so -

          and as sad the recognition,

               the worn table can still give meaning,

                      still give fire to any, ‘any’ in need of warmth.

 

                           But where do the tales of those who smiled a shine go -

                                and more so, when will they emerge again??

 

 

Michael J Waite 26th August 2022. Dedicated to the ‘Coghill Family’ Brora, Scotland.

RIP Graeme, Andrew. Only an outstretched arm apart and rightly so.