Friday, 27 October 2017

Lost

An interesting word 'lost'. Well, for me, it conjured up different thoughts. I looked out my archival poems. Many, many pieces bemoaning lost love, lost youth, losing friends, bereavement, loss of life, hope lost, lost in one's own thoughts...very deep stuff...typical teenage thoughts?

One can feel 'lost', in the sense of being mentally overwhelmed. The sense of 'loss' of a loved pet, relative or partner. Lost in one's thoughts (a good place to be).

I've never been 'lost' whilst hillwalking. Well let me put that into perspective - I will know where I am on the map, but I may not necessarily be where I ought to be! Sometimes it's rather nice to be 'lost'. To discover somewhere new. To feel that you might be walking on ground where no other being has been. That feeling is very profound in snow...as you are walking on a virgin surface.

My poem today was written on the 1st November 1971. It's about a 'ghost town' where nature has taken over, that mankind has abandoned, where the loss is profound.


    Ghost Town

     Empty shells of desolate houses.
     Crush the crumbling plaster in your hands
     And feel the death of a town.
     Run your fingers over cold
     And rusting iron.
     Sense the ageing of a life.

     A fragment of pottery, a faded picture
     Of a long forgotten family.
     A door that bears no exit, nor a welcome.
     Sightless windows and empty rooms.
     Echoes of a family long gone.

     Sheep reside within these walls
     And moan like demented children
     Seeking their guardian mother.
     Empty souls, devoid of love,
     These shells of houses stand and stare
     Looking to the sky as if to seek some solace there.

     Look to me (Sweet Earth) and I will
     Consume your walls with foxgloves
     And other brickwork fauna -
     Covering the pathways that once stood the test
     Of working boots and rattling bicycles.
     They echo now of wind and rain
     And forgotten dreams.

     Remember in the far, far past
     These busy homes with gentle dwellers-
     Gone away, taken their possessions and flown.
     Do they yet recall their former homes
     With grass now overgrown, ivy- congested
     And rotting in the silence?
     These empty shells -
     Silent walls -
     Breathe memories.

   
Kath Curtiss
Reactions:

3 comments:

Steve Rowland said...

Kath, what a fabulous poem; well-rendered, atmospheric and with some striking imagery.

Lady Curt said...

Well, thanks , Steve for the accolade.

Adele said...

This wonderful poems evokes memories of a broken down cottage that we used to play in as children. We would go there with odd tins of paint and 'do it up'. It has been demolished now and the land redeveloped but I often think about the beauty of its dereliction.

Excellent blog.