Country Dwelling

Peaceful Day by Ken Riddles


Rising up to climb over

The habitual hill of childhood play

Leaving the wooden seat with a spring to feet

And a dash – still with shirt-tail hanging-out

A man of my age puffing profusely

Yet the brow is reached – I survive

To puff another day – puffing memory


And now leaning back on arms

thrust back in supporting structure

Made this way by God

Who gave man legs to run up hills

And childhood to roll down the other side

And now leaning back on same hill

I reflect – I check – I do sums of thought

And it was twenty years ago

That my short legs in short trousers

Became sullied from green grass


The same grass I now lean on

But with a little reflection I quickly come

To remember my first love

Now a fickle memory –

As a greater love I did embrace

But I muse and peruse these visiting memories


Shuffling through papers on a wooden desk

Kept too long – kept too much

With great pain clearing-up

And thrusting such papers into the bin

I touch two closed eyes with finger and thumb

And sit still –

Sitting on the childhood chair

Big enough for my present –

Almost pleasant bum


With a rumbling tum I proceed to make a sandwich

Cutting with the same knife I bled with

All those years ago

This my crescendo

I tell you I am

In Dad’s rented paradise – down the lane

Where weekends were lost in bliss

Father and mother gardening-on

While I lived twenty life-styles

As sailor – as pirate – as cowboy with a gun

and so on

2 thoughts on “Country Dwelling

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