Frank Garland

© Frank Garland 2005

Rosslyn Chapel

The leaves rustled and scattered

Under the bristles of the brush

That the old man

Wielded.

The man was old but

Not in comparison to

The old chapel.

He cleared the entrance to the north facing door

And then he

Stopped;

He looked up at the chapel wall and

The protective covering

And was aware of

The weight of history about

The place.

The gargoyles above the door had seen

Many things pass through

Over the centuries,

Man and animal alike

Had used this place for

Shelter and comfort.

He returned to

His task

Thoughtful.

Ancestors

We walk under the hot sun,

the same sun that

has shone on all who have lived before us.

We walk on the same ground,

smell the same scented breeze

that inspired long dead writers,

look at the night sky

just like them,

look back at history

just like them.

 

Dinner—Newbattle

“Three spuds?” said Elliot

“Yes” said Marion,

“I want more than three spuds” demanded Elliot,

“Then you`ll have to wait” said Marion,

“come back after I`ve served everyone else and if there`s any left, you can have them”said Marion.

Elliot returned later,

he got, his spuds!

 

Hell?

To stand above the grave

of someone you love,

That`s hell!

My Grandmother

She seemed to me as beautiful a sight as these old eyes had ever seen

Her image , locked forever in my mind,

A women I have never met nor ever will

A photograph of Sarah.

A Sad Day

I stood above the grave of my Father,

I was very sad but I did not cry, after all,

big boys don`t cry do they?

I tried not to feel sorry for myself

but it wasn`t easy.

I would miss him dearly,

suddenly I felt lonely and vulnerable

I would no longer have his counsel even if

I disagreed with it!

I wondered what he would say to me now, if only he could speak

His dying words were spoken to my brother as

his heart failed, “ look after your Mother” he said.

For some insane reason I felt jealous

that I was not there

and my brother was.

It`s a crazy life,

a crazy short, life.  

Golden Season

The tree was beautiful as it was but when moments

later the rays of the

morning sun

illuminated it`s branches

it shone like a Christmas tree.

The multicoloured leaves glistened in the new day,

I watched as

  the

  leaves

  fell

  ever so gently

beneath it`s boughs.

I stood close and caught one between

my cupped hands,

a dead leaf but still beautiful in it`s

restful state.

I released it to it`s fate- below the tree which

in my ignorance I could not name,

I continued my walk

through the Autumn woodland.  

August.

When the present day passes

into history

and the world turns once again,

this will always be my day.

As I walk through

the evening sunshine,

counting my steps as the sun retires;

I feel good; really good.

I reach my bed and consider

the days events,

conversations race through my mind,

the day was long

but not long enough.

I can still recall her perfume

and it haunts me,

I remember her touch and

the look in her eyes.

Few words were spoken

but much implied,

everything has changed,

love, has arrived.

Just looking

The boy stood before the gateway and looked up

He noticed

The old weathered stone

Built long before his time

And the rusted

Blackened hinges where

The gates once hung

He wondered what it would be like

To climb up to the top

And

Look

Down

His gaze then took in

The

Long

Straight

Drive

Up to

The

Big house

Who lived there? He wondered

The big white SQUARE NOTICE read PRIVATE

He turned

And walked away