I know it is there. Like a dream. The memory is uplifted in the dream but as a shadow changes in light, so does the nib of my pen respond to my confused mind.

Drums In The Morning.

I was there and saw the square of wonder,
a set of tables under sunblinds and parasols.
Opposite was the cafe, home of coffee and hot chocolate.
Partially hidden behind a column in the edificio a figure looking.
Not raven haired, not of sallow complexion.
Visited the house of fun and Senhor Ramos.
Placed a wager on a horse that is still running.
Bought shoes from a vendor on the street.
Visited their place of death with smiles on marble tombs.
Today I thought of a library, and an enormous tree.
Like a rubber plant but huge, providing shade on my square.
You told me they were about to cut it down.
Please dont tell me they executed my tree!
Gunter Grass had a tin drum, heared by my ancestors.
My tin drum is silent....for the moment.

Words by Sid Gardner
Read 542 times
Written on 2011-07-04 at 17:30

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jenks The PoetBay support member heart!
all still here Sid :)
the tree is better than ever...

good to see you writing and silent no more.