June, 2022 © by Stevie Dufyn (pen-name).
JUNE, 2022.
Stevie Dufyn 26 June 2022.
In an English village a millennium old,Lies our hedge-lined hill, overgrown now,
Growing new memories, chirruping families mixing with the old and frail.
Our house, older than its years, has seen joy and sadness,
ts garden oozing colour across the seasons, planned and wild.
In this spot, life goes on in a world that has lost its way.
June is the month when folks sit in their gardens,
Talking, drinking, phoning, enjoying the cooling of the day.
The month of roses, competing for the attention of bees and butterflies.
I am with those I know, who comfort me, strangers but friends
Who offer me food, drink, music and love,
Whose smiling faces offer words of joy, hope and pleasure.
I hear nearby sounds, Blackbirds complaining about cats,
Talking, drinking, phoning, enjoying the cooling of the day.
The month of roses, competing for the attention of bees and butterflies.
I am with those I know, who comfort me, strangers but friends
Who offer me food, drink, music and love,
Whose smiling faces offer words of joy, hope and pleasure.
I hear nearby sounds, Blackbirds complaining about cats,
Magpie thugs threatening smaller neighbours,
Looking for plunder to feed their young on the young of others.
A robin defends its territory, noisily but uselessly,
It perches on my table, seeking food and company.
Scents spread, honeysuckle, jasmine, roses – a blur, I knew each one once.
Looking for plunder to feed their young on the young of others.
A robin defends its territory, noisily but uselessly,
It perches on my table, seeking food and company.
Scents spread, honeysuckle, jasmine, roses – a blur, I knew each one once.
Breezes rustle through shrubs and trees. I hear a road.
A car goes by, a motorbike rasps,. a steam train rattles far away,
Lorries beep warnings, insistent alarms, a helicopter, a plane..
They are noises, indistinct, unrecognized, whose purpose escapes me,
But compete in the soundtrack of that moment.
Toe-tapping music rings out close by. Arm-waving, I gurgle joyfully.
Some noises I understand, children laughing, cats pleading.
Adult voices, talking about life, problems, disasters, the family.
Faces smiling, checking, sometimes weeping. They say hello, and goodbye.
I laugh. Their words remind me of things I can no longer grasp.
I chuckle, but have few words to offer them.
The words are in my head, but the journey to my mouth is hard.
The sun is low in the sky. It is getting cool.
The sky turns shades of red, orange, maroon, like on fire,
Blue patches struggling through until everything fades.
Flower scents drift over, heady perfumes I remember.
The moon shines bright, a globe, a full moon behind shadowy trees.
Starlings crowd the skies with their dance and roost.
Time for my sleep too, as eyelids grow heavy.
Cuddled in blankets and pillows, a cat on guard, in bed.
People I scarcely remember, but who know me, and are my friends.
Familiar faces and voices care for me, and bring me peace,
Faces and voices grow dimmer each day. No one will tell me who I am,
Or what I did, or who I was once, or who I will be. My name only remains..
I dream, where life is real, with folks I like, doing what I enjoy.
My dad, husband, daughter and niece are there. And lost friends.
Humming tunes and songs where old loves and friends still thrive.
A world I cannot share with those around me now.
Since they have no window into my mind and soul.
It is my secret world, my only world now with no way back.
Yet I am not alone, or lonely, fret not,
Old friends are with me, in vivid memory.
My head still has my lost words, thoughts and pictures.
In there I know who I am, my essence.
Who I used to be is more than what I did,
And I know now the mystery of who I will become.
In the world I have left, a fox screams, an owl hunts, silent.
Clouds scud across the sky, drops of rain seek out plants.
While other pump out their night scents seeking out moths.
In my dreams I live my own story, happier, without disappointments.
Flowers close up for the own sleep, the water lilies and poppies,
So farewell for now, I have another life to live.
A car goes by, a motorbike rasps,. a steam train rattles far away,
Lorries beep warnings, insistent alarms, a helicopter, a plane..
They are noises, indistinct, unrecognized, whose purpose escapes me,
But compete in the soundtrack of that moment.
Toe-tapping music rings out close by. Arm-waving, I gurgle joyfully.
Some noises I understand, children laughing, cats pleading.
Adult voices, talking about life, problems, disasters, the family.
Faces smiling, checking, sometimes weeping. They say hello, and goodbye.
I laugh. Their words remind me of things I can no longer grasp.
I chuckle, but have few words to offer them.
The words are in my head, but the journey to my mouth is hard.
The sun is low in the sky. It is getting cool.
The sky turns shades of red, orange, maroon, like on fire,
Blue patches struggling through until everything fades.
Flower scents drift over, heady perfumes I remember.
The moon shines bright, a globe, a full moon behind shadowy trees.
Starlings crowd the skies with their dance and roost.
Time for my sleep too, as eyelids grow heavy.
Cuddled in blankets and pillows, a cat on guard, in bed.
People I scarcely remember, but who know me, and are my friends.
Familiar faces and voices care for me, and bring me peace,
Faces and voices grow dimmer each day. No one will tell me who I am,
Or what I did, or who I was once, or who I will be. My name only remains..
I dream, where life is real, with folks I like, doing what I enjoy.
My dad, husband, daughter and niece are there. And lost friends.
Humming tunes and songs where old loves and friends still thrive.
A world I cannot share with those around me now.
Since they have no window into my mind and soul.
It is my secret world, my only world now with no way back.
Yet I am not alone, or lonely, fret not,
Old friends are with me, in vivid memory.
My head still has my lost words, thoughts and pictures.
In there I know who I am, my essence.
Who I used to be is more than what I did,
And I know now the mystery of who I will become.
In the world I have left, a fox screams, an owl hunts, silent.
Clouds scud across the sky, drops of rain seek out plants.
While other pump out their night scents seeking out moths.
In my dreams I live my own story, happier, without disappointments.
Flowers close up for the own sleep, the water lilies and poppies,
So farewell for now, I have another life to live.
Stevie Dufyn, November 2022.
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