Conjuring the past - reading Fairy Tales.
Sat and watched The Silence
As though it were truly silent;
Not a word heard,
Lips moving on a ventriloquist`s face,
Masks etched deeply into shadow.
This is how I picture wartime Europe.
Grey vistas. Life a struggle.
Hands held over tear filled eyes.
The limping man,
Whey faced, always speechless,
Hobbling slowly home from factory work;
Khaki coat, unbuttoned, soiled:
An unlit fag in yellow fingers:
Army boots, jet black mirrors.
At night the curtains were pulled tight
To cover taped up bedroom windows,
Blotting out pin pricks of light.
The house was silent.
Two sisters slept in single beds.
I huddled in a cot between them,
A child cocooned in fear and night.
Old grandma stared up at the clock;
She could not read it in the dark.
"60 years gone up in smoke" she said.
The limping man passed by our door,
Army boots, jet black mirrors,
Polished until they cracked like ice.
Boots of ice reflecting nothing.
"That`s old Jack Frost hobbling by"
My bomb crazed aunt sadly whispered.
When half asleep I did believe her,
But feared much more the silent house
That hid the creaking of the floor,
The scuttling of a mouse.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter
December 16th. - 17th. - 19th. 2015.
December 26th. - 27th. 2016 Rewritten, December 30th.2020.
Masks etched deeply into shadow.
This is how I picture wartime Europe.
Grey vistas. Life a struggle.
Hands held over tear filled eyes.
The limping man,
Whey faced, always speechless,
Hobbling slowly home from factory work;
Khaki coat, unbuttoned, soiled:
An unlit fag in yellow fingers:
Army boots, jet black mirrors.
At night the curtains were pulled tight
To cover taped up bedroom windows,
Blotting out pin pricks of light.
The house was silent.
Two sisters slept in single beds.
I huddled in a cot between them,
A child cocooned in fear and night.
Old grandma stared up at the clock;
She could not read it in the dark.
"60 years gone up in smoke" she said.
The limping man passed by our door,
Army boots, jet black mirrors,
Polished until they cracked like ice.
Boots of ice reflecting nothing.
"That`s old Jack Frost hobbling by"
My bomb crazed aunt sadly whispered.
When half asleep I did believe her,
But feared much more the silent house
That hid the creaking of the floor,
The scuttling of a mouse.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter
December 16th. - 17th. - 19th. 2015.
December 26th. - 27th. 2016 Rewritten, December 30th.2020.
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