Mad Abstraction

Got up this morning to the mind circus,
masses of memory flowers invaded my conscience.
A log floating down an old Suffolk river
passing a small white boat,
why so vivid that day
when dad and me lazed
in the wonder of that long English summer?

These days I can hardly remember my name,
but those far away days now come back to me
like a fast flying bird.

Village life,
the perfume soaked walls of the Mission room,
where the ladies of the Mothers union sang; ‘Jerusalem’
in sticky hot summer nights.

Poor Maudie,
who was cruelly regard as having religious mania,
sweeping the church steps
and cleaning the pews till they shone,
I see her now on her bike
delivering religious tracts,
one of the kindest souls ever to have graced this world.

Ah the wonder of it all, we never knew what we had!

The diesel aroma
of that old bus crossing Anchor Bridge,
the top deck smoke filled
with working men tired of the day,
with aching bones.

Village gossip
was their world,
the local town a universe away!
The “Tut, Tut Tut”
when two young lovers were seen holding hands in public.
And yet,
there was something magical in the innocence of it all
that forgave its cruelties,
and cruelties there were,
have no doubt.

The chimes
of the Ice cream van on the hill of the council estate,
Mr Tweed the Bakers man with cream horn treats,
the ringing of the St James Church bells
calling in the faithful,
all gone to nothing now,
amid tyrant new age gloss and certainties.
I must let it go and rest,
but, I can’t.

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