Nirvana. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

That smile, those crinkled lines about your face

Moving to the rhythm of your beating heart

Always humming that happy tune

As a child he recalls sitting in awe of grandma

How she could light up a room with that smile

Grandma was one for keeping letters

I can’t throw that away she’d tell granddad

He’d just scratch his head, make no reply

Granddad loved the great outdoors

During long hot summer days

We’d lie off on a hay rick

Bask under a cloudless sky

He’d tell all sorts of stories

Then once it was time for home

He’d say, clapping his hands, not a word to grandma.

In the silence of the night

Grandma and granddad could be heard having a goodnight chat

Then once they knelt to pray

It was time to drift off into slumber land.

One wonders what they would make of today’s world

Zen and Feng Shui, a place for everything and everything in it place

Tommy rot that’s what granddad would say

Among all the clutter he always knew where to find the necessary tool.

Where grandma who was quite house proud in her own way

Would never go on the warpath if she couldn’t find items in an instant

God is good she’d say if it’s to be found it’ll turn up.

© Chris Black. February 2019

#Poetry #amwriting #thegoodoldtimes