Poetry ~ Anthony Wade
Lying with the unforgiving press of the night,
knowing the wear of the years
and the slowing of my funfair ride,
I reflect on the road,
indeed the many roads, not taken,
regret the good friends lazily unmoored,
remember the lovers failed,
wistfully wonder whether they are ever
startled at a glimpse of a closeted memory
that nevertheless still reflexes a smile,
perhaps brief, possibly secretive,
at some sunlit moment we once shared,
and as the black faintly greys,
await the morning with some apprehension
but know that I will rise at the call,
for each day is still a future to be faced.
From my mind despairing,
adrift on a shoreless sea,
achingly alone, always alone,
my deadened life so, so
snail slowly seeking
the seed of resurrection,
began to dream of rising from darkness,
dared to glimpse a life
with a recovering memory,
faintly felt the unfear of hope,
and my grief-chilled heart
was soothingly warmed
by the soul's tears
and Love, humanity divine,
bravely opened its long maskéd face,
turned creakingly to shadows
of memories of a life that thought
it was forever past,
and tenderly drew its loss close
within that fearfully warming space.
Joy In The Time Of Pandemic
I remember Mother's face when finally
the steel needle on the hard shellac stopped
its savage hissing and the contralto sang out
to the southerly wind to bring her true love home,
and the sad joy of news of a distant family birth
brought by a handwritten letter eased from
an envelope creased by its long travels by
rail and sea, photograph to follow.
News of my granddaughter's birth far away
came via an electronic beep, and there she
lay, safe and well in her Mother's arms,
just born, and I loved her instantly.
And now I can see her daily and listen to
her small wordless voice, and I ache that I cannot
gather either of them up in my arms but through
my tears I laugh at the wonder of it all.
While your Mother slept her exhausted sleep,
I drew you close during that long first tired night,
stealthily pacing the bare creaking floor above,
impotently stepping a shushing shadowed path
while you cried and greatly cried a heart-tearing distress.
And the night wept during those darkly drawn hours,
wailing upon the glass, its tears flowing freely
like a lover keening a loved life lost,
and across the ceiling the wetted glass slivered
a watery light leaking from a streetlight below,
until with the first stealthy smear stealing into the sky
my little finger brushed your fraught lips, and greedily
you snatched it in, and the silence was suddenly solid
as you sucked, and soothingly sucked, and I smiled a smile
I still feel for it arced a golden bond that secured my love
through many toilsome years.
Anthony Wade, an active member of the local writers’ group, published a first poem in 2018 and since in several magazines, both print and online, including Lakeview and Strands Lit. He was overjoyed to receive a Highly Commended in the Francis Ledwidge Poetry Award 2018 for it was on finally coming Home to live in Ireland that he discovered the poems of Francis Ledwidge and they awoke in him a voice to join his ear and eye for poetry. He now lives by the sea in East Cork.
7/13/2020 07:36:15 am
I am always enthralled by Anthony's poems. He has a magical way of triggering associations with the sub conscious that make each of his poems worth reading again and again and each time a new awareness emerges.It is good to know we have such talent in today's confusing world!
11/14/2020 06:04:14 am
Ronnie, I've very belatedly seen your comment (posted too early in the morning for me!). I don't know how to say thank you. I have the privilege of knowing you and know that you speak from the heart, and what you say is overwhelming. All I can say is thank you and I say it from my heart.
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