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Tuesday, 1 May 2012

Two Poems


I had not expected this at my age:
all the muscles tightening in my throat,
my eyes welling up and glazing over
and palpitations in my ageing heart.

But more than this. I could wander around
the house, the streets outside and suddenly
your image would appear and then your voice
and I would engage in conversation -

Internally, of course, though it felt real.
I could hear you clearly, see you clearly
with that mischievous look from piercing eyes
and I would hold you close in an embrace.

I had not expected this at my age
and thought of the gap in years between us.
These things don’t seem to matter nowadays
and with this trend I felt myself at ease.

But deep down I knew it would never last,
your eyes were bound to rest on someone else
but what had been was bound to stay between
this grandad and his two year old grandson.

Jim Aitken



Like a blind man with his white stick
faltering sometimes on pavements,
only familiarity
and persistence can lead him on.

For ourselves when the fog descends,
when we can’t seem to find our way,
the white stick of inspiration
can become a shaft of lightning

That transforms the darkness for us,
the white flash a wand in our hand
that gives us lasting expression;
the bright new dawn of our learning.

Jim Aitken

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