FROM GIRL TO LADY...

FROM GIRL TO LADY...

I can hear your laughter and see your smile..

and see you tilt your head to one side

I watched your eyes light up 

as he entered the room 

and see that quick glance you shared.

What a couple you were

so happy in each other's company.

You always had such pride in your family

and delighted in all they did. 

Still, I remember you as a girl

with that lilting laugh 

and that easy warmth you happily shared.

You never pushed me aside

or told me to go away.

Rather you knelt with me 

as I looked for that piece of broken glass

in Nona's path, we called it a clock.

You helped me to pick fruit from the trees

and suck honey from nasturtiums

and even played tea parties with me,

though I was so small. 

You understood my love of words

and gave me my first ever dictionary

(I treasure it still) 

and a bluebird necklace.

We were more than cousins

we were friends and confidants..

You were my little big sister

always supportive, never judgemental

We laughed, we cried, 

we shared family news

and solved the problems of the world.

Thank you for your guidance

your caring and sharing

and for being the girl and the lady I so admired..

Rest in peace, sweet Stella..

you will live on forever in the hearts 

of all who knew and loved you..

We will hear your name and smile

'Of course, I knew her well!'

(c) Crissouli  March 8, 2016

Image free use courtesy The Old Design Shop

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Image courtesy of Pixabay  free use

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Not for him the comfort

of a warm, cosy hearth

on a chill autumn night..

rather the deceitful friendship

of a cheap flagon

unopened - full of promise

emptied - full of nothing.

Few were his hopes, or wishes

or dreams.

Cold wet grass doesn't lead

to aspirations

or thoughts of grandeur..

rather to chilblains

and eternal desolation.

Tinned soup, cold,

his daily sustenance

at least for the first few days

after the fortnightly pension

and then -

whatever he could scrounge 

wherever he could find it.

The report was stark,

brutal, horrifying..

'VAGRANT BATTERED TO DEATH'

It came with our morning cuppa

we read it

shook our heads

and turned the page.

(c) Crissouli May 22, 1984

MEMORIES (SUCH SWEET SOUNDS)

I sit, listening to your voice
How warm and loving it sounds
even as you tell my small son
"Not like that, don't do that.."
interspersed with praise
as he struggles through the intricacies
of the organ, much larger than the one he's used to.

We take these occasions
a simple gathering of family
so much for granted.
You, and Dad, instruct gently
but firmly, while my younger brother,
the owner of the organ, shivers, quietly.
In the background, the voices mingle
each with their own part to play
in this family theatre.

For so long, I haven't heard your voice
we no longer have the same gatherings
though we do gather, without you.
Our family is still just that
but how we miss you
your presence, the sound of your voice
and how grateful we are
for the memories of a simple family gathering
recorded on a cassette.

 (c) Crissouli June 4, 1983