Caw War!

 There’s a crow in this picture,
 Yet he seeks to deceive.
 Motionless, he stands
 Pretending to be a branch, or twig.
 When I turn away, he caws,
 A crow’s laugh at my ineptitude.
 He may have won this round,
 But when the sky lightens,
 I shall have my revenge.
 Oh, yes, my friends,
 For as the blue reveals him,
 I’ll caw back so loud that he falls from his perch.
 I shall have the final laugh.
 I have it all planned from my hospital ward window.


 An evening walk,

 Perhaps, a stroll,

 Where berries of ruby and jet suddenly line the hedgerows.
 An early morning,

 Perhaps, a run,

 Where the dewdrops glisten like diamonds in the emerald grass.
 An afternoon meander,

 Perhaps, with a loved one,

 Where copper tones bring out the brunette hues of her hair.
 A day, yes a single day,

 Perhaps, soon,

 Where you realise right there and then that Fall has arrived.

Shades of Departure

 In shades of departure you hang resplendent
 Some carrying the memory of Summer
 Others the promise of Fall
 I wonder if you whisper to each other
 Of seasons past and future
 Or if you merely sigh as you prepare to tumble
 Like rustling, antiquated snowflakes
 To the feet of he who bears you

Goodbye Grandad

I don’t have a good memory. I never have had. So why do I remember my Grandad’s final words with such clarity?
 He was a proud man, my grandad. Even in the face of illness he never complained. Bronchitis had taken it’s toll on him, day by day, hour by hour, always a little worse. To see him coughing up blood in a rather dismal hospital room was unpleasant for us; far more so for he. I lingered at the back of our family’s small procession not wanting to be the first to talk. When the others turned and walked away, my mother included, I was left alone with that frail old man who had always been so kind to me. He tried to smile as he put his little beaker of blood-soaked phlegm to one side and beckoned me forward. He only said seven words.
 “Look after your Nanna for me, Richard”
 I can’t remember if I replied, it is a memory lost to time. But, I knew as I left him that I would never see my Grandad alive again.
 They were the last words of a man who knew his time had come, but still gave thought only for his wife and Grandson. So I say again, why do I remember those last few words? Because, I too hope to be that sort of man when I leave this world. I think that would make him proud. I know it would me.