BEAUTIFUL MEMORIES

BEAUTIFUL MEMORIES

Artie's... Artie Shaw's band

evoking memories of a bygone era…

was life really so simple then?

"Blowing bubbles… in the air…"

The melodious warble of a clarinet

the rise and fall of perfect notes

swirling skirts of crepe - de - chine

tantalising snatches of fragrance

from bruised corsages

and perfumed hair…

carefully pinned and rolled, 

or gently waved

with the help of sugar and water.

Bulky suits, double breasted,

wide lapels,

pleated and cuffed trousers

and always, shining shoes.

Greasy palms, partly from anxiety

partly from pushing back brylcreemed hair.

Sawdust on the floor

fresh flowers mingling with half filled ashtrays..

huge bowls of punch

secretly laced with alcohol

by foolhardy, fancy free boys…

A furtive embrace

on moonlight swathed balconies…

The young, trying so hard

to look sophisticated -

the sophisticated -

 trying so hard to look young.

Cars with running boards,

lamp lit avenues, lined with trees,

and shadows…

the beckoning welcome of a light

shining through velvet draped windows.

Beautiful notes, beautiful music

beautiful memories.

© Crissouli

Image courtesy of ClipArtHut

WITH BEARD OF SALTED GREY

(c) expired

WITH BEARD OF SALTED GREY

They rode by the Diamantina

and alongside the Barcoo and never saw

another living soul.

They crossed the Haddon Corner

where the days are hot and long

and never thought

they'd ever reach their goal.

But there they met a fellow

with beard of salted grey

who told them of a place

that he'd once been.

They spent the night in dreaming

as young men often do

of the rich life that their new friend

said he'd seen.

In the shadows of the Beal Range

they packed again their swags

and made off

in the early morning light.

With their pans upon their shoulders

and strong boots they'd always worn

these two young men did make a splendid sight.

All day long, the adventurers bore

the sticky tiresome heat

and ever brushed

at buzzing swarms of flies.

They trudged along till day was night

and cooling shadows fell

giving welcome rest

to itchy, swollen eyes.

They found again their old campsite

that they'd made among the trees

and settled down

to rest their weary bones. 

They talked of Clancy of the Overflow

and of others that they'd heard

and slept once more

ignoring ghostly groans.

For at this unimposing campsite

some knew there once had been

a ghastly night,

of deeds so very foul

when a man had once been murdered

for another's pot of gold

and this evil deed

had made him ever prowl.

Not knowing of this long gone time

they dreamt the night away

with golden thoughts 

still racing through their mind.

They never woke to see the ghost

with beard of salted grey

who had ensured

that no gold would they find.

'Twas many years before they found,

at the campsite near the bank,

their whitened bones

still in their bloodied rags.

'Tis said the ghost with beard of grey

makes eerie sounds at night..

and still, it's said, he preys on men

who carry mining swags.

© Crissouli

A MOMENT - OR TWO..

(c) unknown

A MOMENT - OR TWO

The quiet stillness of the dawn 

envelops me

wrapped in a cocoon of peace

and solitude

I, at first, feel tense

so much to do

yet, too early for most.

Time to relax, yet I shower, 

quickly,

not willing to let the first

rays of sunlight elude me.

In the distance

a bird calls to it's mate

welcoming a new dawning.

Time to sit and think

and write

to welcome God's gift

of a brand new day.

Too late, the haunting bark 

of the dog next door

shatters the stillness of the dawn.

Then, once again, peace

and quiet…

a steaming cup of coffee

my only companion.

Thank you, Lord,

for these Blessed moments

and, more importantly,

a time of renewal.

© Crissouli