Friday, July 29, 2011

Is It Stained Glass?



Is it stained glass? Not it's not.
Is it a holy relic?
No! It's not even 'modern art'
And slightly psychedelic.
It's a comical piece of advertising
At which many people look,
Placed there by my friend Peter,
Who's recently published a book.
It's in the library window,
Looking rather smart
Advertising his recent book
Called ....of course.... 'But Is it Art?'
Peter is a cartoonist,
Well-known on the local scene,
And he published a book of his cartoons,
Many of which we'd seen
In the local paper,
Over a number of years.
Everyone takes interest
When a new cartoon appears.
The little dog is 'Romeo';
The real one's no longer alive,
But in Peter's daily cartoons
He still continues to thrive.
At the moment we're attempting
A book about Romeo.
Getting published is problematic....
We'll just see how we go.


'Before the war'; a phrase that's dead.
But there was a time when people said
'Before the war' and others knew
Which war was alluded to.
Since then there have been wars and wars,
Some, seemingly, without a cause,
But I belong to a generation
Which knows, without any hesitation,
That the Second World War was the one that mattered,
Because so many lives were shattered.
Here we are, my cousins and I 
Under an English summer sky,
On the beach so long ago.
(I'm the one with the ribbon bow!)
My cousins meant the world to me.
We had a tent down by the sea
And every summer we used to play
Down on the beach nearly every day.
(The English climate may be disdained
But in my youth it never rained!)
But then there came  The Declaration,
Nation was at war with nation.
Hurriedly we all departed,
Because the Second World War had started.
Children were soon evacuated;
Chaos for everyone created.
My cousins went I knew not where!
We were scattered everywhere.
We thought it would be 'just for a while';
We even went off with a happy smile!
But things had changed for evermore.
Somehow life had slammed a door.
We were never all together again;
Too great a change had been put in train.
Families moved to different places
And soon there weren't the smallest traces
Of the golden children on the beach.
Past lives had moved beyond our reach.
We 'lost touch', went abroad, or died.
Washed out to sea by a thoughtless tide.
Now those who are left are very old,
Their ancient stories rarely told.
An 'oldie' frequently regales
Listeners with old-time tales
And sees the boredom in younger eyes;
And we sit musing .....'How time flies!'
And will the young look back this way
With misty eyes of their own one day,
When the past is out of reach,
Along with cousins on the beach?


Kathe W. said...

this piece about Cousins really touched me- I've read about the English children being sent away for safety's sake-but oh my how sad it is that you were never ever all together again. I only have one cousin and it would be awful not to see her-we make the 600 mile trek at least once a year to get together and laugh and laugh.

Lois Evensen said...

The second piece is especially beautiful. My husband, Norwegian born, also tells stories about the war and how it changed lives in his family.

Winifred said...

I love that poem Brenda and I love that photo too. They bring back memories of my childhood summer days on the beach. You're right, it never rained when I was little either.

Yes I think the "young ones"will look back when they are older and they'll wish they had listened and asked questions. I know I wish I had asked my dad & granddad about the War. My Mam talked a lot about it but I think those who fought didn't.

Anonymous said...

I love the second poem in a special way, having been raised by American Depression-era parents who had stories about the home front during WWII, and my first husband's mother, who survived Auschwitz and remained to her dying day grateful for the help of Brits, Americans, and so many others. Truly a personal poem, which often brings forth personal memories for all of us. Keep 'em coming! Peace, Amy Barlow Liberatore