A collection of poems by Philip Jones
Absence
Death brings a painful end
To a life lived in warmth and care;
And yet an absence like a friend
Stays and moves. Always there,
Utters silent words, responds
And jokes and even reprimands.
There is absence in her favourite chair
Which eased a stubborn pain;
Marks upon the stairs left
By the heavy climb to sleep;
Slow moves preparing food to taste;
An absence in the barren seat
Warning of limits to official speed.
Absence lies on the pillow in the bed
A single silver hair shed by chemo
Left unsaid. All around absence
Is there to listen to my choking words
To console or reprimand. Death
Is neither heaven or hell..an absence
To be there with us to the end
Believing is Seeing
I felt in some magical way
I would find you there.
Sighting the lost ear-ring
Beneath your favourite chair,
Your dark glasses, strap loose
And curled, a half read book
Abandoned on a lonely stool,
A glinting strand of silver hair;
I faltered through a maze
Of thoughts, regrets and flecks
Of pained pathways in the brain
Oscillating small bubbles clashing
And spilling warm tears
From half expectant eyes
Of what had been;
Eyes that must now close
Knowing always
What they have seen.
The Body Idles On
So many years were the acts
To perform,
No time to dwell
On what would cease
To be...
Pills to take, each one
Questioned and espied
Jumpers to be stacked
And folded...socks to sort;
Bodily functions carefully
Performed;
Failure to mark
Small spots of beauty
Scorned!
Now all gone...
The body idled on
Meditation by the Mulberry Tree
It is now a feast of sorrow
From now until tomorrow;
Leaves filter sunlight
And muffle songs of bird;
Moist eyes yearn for signs
Of tender times now gone.
But we cannot stay and pine
Nor linger here too long