Abstract journey

Through all the years I’ve lived,

there was a time, I, as part of a family

experienced being a boy - growing up -

leaving home and country…

*

Experience being accepted,

learning different customs,

being appreciated for what I could do,

for what I could become;

for my potential … and just for being me.

*

Enjoying marriage, becoming a husband and a father;

holding close each of our three precious daughters,

heart thrilling, eyes brimming

at the wonder of their birth and their development,

and later for our summer evening cabin story times…

*

So many other things came my way

all for a time and a purpose

possible with my body and my humanity.

*

These have been times I have rejoiced,

senses alive, quickened … by eye, ear or touch … gloriously so,

reaching into my innermost being, making my soul to sing

blessings by a different name - man made from human to human -

we bring the possibility of such blessings with us;

part of our endowment, there to be used and enjoyed.

*

It has been with some sadness too, the opposite quickening,

as the bitter and the sweet need the one to justify the other,

else were the one on its own too much to bear …

*

Who can fathom the making of Man

composed of such variety of constituent parts;

Physical, mental, spiritual, the visible and the invisible,

what turning, mixing, confusing or clarified using

of the human brain in the act of thinking…

*

What marvellous variety of abstract journeys

our imagination can take us on,

with such wide ranging expressions and emotions

is each human born,

fearfully and wonderfully … and for a time and a purpose.

*

Dennis Crompton © 1997

(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)

Fairy story

There’s a dull ache in my heart at times
when switched on to father mode
on looking back at what I’ve been,
and what I’ve done and what I’ve said.

*

There was a fragrant softness in the air
'midst the surrounding lovely trees,
the coolness of the greenery
and the gentle summer breeze.

*

‘Let’s tidy it and with some flowers make it nice.
There, isn’t that a lovely fairies holiday house.
Wash now ‘til it sparkles the fairies small milk bottle,
leave a note inside for fairy milkman to find tonight.

*
Quietly we’ll leave it there outside their wee front door.

Three small smiling daughters
then gently slipped away,
snuggled down in cabin bunks
to stories read aloud.

*

Each day of our holidays was the little game played out
‘He’s been. There’s a note, quick let’s see what he wrote.’
Small excited voices read it several times with much delight,
Content that fairy milkman had called again last night.

*

That’s how it was by the lake side, with smiles, sometimes with tears,
summer holidays came and went during young and tender years.
It was my wife who cleverly chose that special secret mound
where a family of fairies dwelt when our holidays came round.

*
We’d left the harsh realities of our cold world just for a while,
enjoyed being with our children in magic story times.

How cruel I was, I’ve often thought, why did I have to say
what I said to my eldest daughter on that sad and awful day?

*
I’d thought quite long, thought it best that she should know,
concerned she’d one day hear the truth about fairy story times.

Something quite lovely and innocent withered before my gaze,
with tear-filled eyes she looked at me, she found it hard to speak
whispering with such sadness: ‘Oh Dad, not real, no fairies after all?’

*

So there it is, I’ve told my tale and sad I am at that,
in this wonderful world of ours we must grow up and face the facts.
Make-believe and fairies have their place just for a while…
but does growing up have to mean we must leave all of that behind?

*

Dennis Crompton © 2012

(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)