Harrogate

It’s been fifteen years                                  

and though my body tires,              

and I have far to go,                         

I know I’m going home,                   

to green hills and cold                                                      

rains, saturated skin cut

 

to heart, and scents of grass fresh cut.

And after all these years

I haven’t forgot the cold

Yorkshire winds, or busy tires

rolling softly from home

with somewhere else to go.

 

I remember going

to school, the path we cut,

my sister and I from home.

In our tender years,

I remember half-buried tires

in fields of beige-white, snow-cold.

 

We held our little mitts cold

and milky, full of rear to go.

And I am left lamenting as I tire,

when was it my drive was cut?

When was it in my younger years,

that I fell so far from home?

 

And now as a man I home

through clouds high and cold

for the first time in years.

over the Pacific we go,

and all I can think of is cutting

loose, off with shoes, and tires

 

of blue taxis where I tire

even more on my way home.

I saw thin drifts of water cut

Through hills, low and cold,

where hurried hares go

to dream of greener years.

 

Where tired souls winter in cold

hovels of old cut elm, waiting to go

home, like stars, aged not a year. 

 

Reviews

[Nolo Segundo]

Having studied in England for 2 years as a young man (one in Manchester, the other in London),
I can appreciate the 'peculiar' British weather-- and the deep love you must have for the country. And that last stanza-- again, very powerful-- the sign of a true poet....

[PoeticSorcery]

powerful imagery, it takes me on a journey that I didn't know I'd enjoy having.

[Kelly Scheppers]

Is there anything better than home, to the place of "green hills and cold breakfasts of potatoes and cut greens with beef cutlets." I miss those east coast mornings so much!

Such a wonderful journey through time, Kenny!