A SUMMERS EVENING.

[Astonian]

A SUMMERS EVENING.
in the crimsom west skies of purest amethyst
Along the tree lined way ,tall shadows gently sway to the music of that mystic hour of bird of song.
In each gilded bower a day goes by .And I .Stood dream like.
Lest my intrusion broke the magic spell , that lingered there
By woodland paths and perfume dell.
And now ,
the evening star comes twinkling through the dusky light.
All in a summer evening too soon to fade in the spell
Of a summer Night .

 

[Robert Harrison]

Isn't that just how it is. You stand and hardly dare to breath as you take in the beauty of it all. Try as one may even the painter misses the one instant that they wish to capture, in a moment it is gone.

Robert

 

[Rupert]

Great depth of thought. I liked it. A little away from your usual style of olde English though. If your usual style is natural dont change a thing; It's wonderful and I look forward to reading every one of your posts. You cant teach that. They remind me of the letters my dad used to write to me.
The verse, Very well done, two thumbs.

 

[Astonian]

my fathers hands.
large calloused shovell - like hands,
gnarled knuckles on fingers
with clipped nails
kept clean with small bladed ivory handled pen knife.
Strong tanned arms and hands
That Gripped Long handled shovel
and drove it with pratice ease
Into a pile of unforgiving limestone.
The same Hands that gripped
The Iron Handle of a stubborn starting
DIESEL CONCRETE mixer on cold frosty morninng .
Blasted thing won,t start,, ; he,d mutter
Tearing up empty cement bags bags
And lighting them to heat up the engine.
A quick swing of the handle
And a life like shudder
It coughed into life ,
Its steady puth, puth, puth,
Shatterd the early morning silence.
Right , lads;; he,d say , lets get a move on .


; Tis eight o clock, half the day ,s gone ;
HIS arms moved at a steady measured pace all day
Never flagging
At six or later he,d call it a day
At home in the scullery
He,d scrub his hands in the earthenware sink
With Lifebouy soap before sitting down to eat .
He crossed himself, muttering thanks
To his God before eating.
Later in the evening, the family in a circle
His fingers caressed his beads
As he recited the Rosary,
The same stronghands that lifted me
As a child , never raised in anger.
The day my mother died
He shrouded his face in his hands as he wept broken hearted .
At eighty-Seven his hands his hands were still big .
Translucent mottled skin
Covered his now callous free soft hands .
We folded them in his rosary beads
Interwined his fingers
Before laying him in the dank dark earth .

 

[Astonian]

hi dennis ,sorry i haven,t replied to your kind words before now but i have been away , thank you for your comment.,on my subject. i will continue looking at your subjects, as i am sure you give us all pleasure in what ever you write ,on the forum . have a nice day ,. best wishes astonian ,;;;;;

 

[Kandor]

Astonian..good God..what a fabuous compliment to pay a Dad..I wish I'd written it, simply beautiful.

 

[Astonian]

TIME GONE BYE

LOVE OF MY LIFE .

LONG AGO AND FAR AWAY.
I DREAMED A DREAM ONE DAY,
AND NOW THAT DREAM IS HERE
BESIDE ME .

LONG THE SKIESWERE OVER CAST,
BUT NOW THE CLOUDS HAVE PASSED.
YOU,RE HERE AT LAST.

CHILLS RUN UP AND DOWNMY SPINE.
ALLADIN,S LAMP IS MINE .
THE DREAM I DREAMED WAS NOT
DENIED ME.

JUST ONE LOOKAND THEN I KNEW.
THAT ALL I LONGED FOR
LONG AGO WAS YOU .

 

[O.C.]

Astonian you have a touch of class and seem to know your target before the arrow has landed
First Rate O0