My first memories of me as a child as a human being living and breathing the air around me. I’m playing with others, other children. We’re sat down on the pavement, it might be Gracey Lane, Buttershaw where I was born, it must be somewhere near there. It’s grey and overcast like an old black and white film. There’s no colour, just a puddle the other children and me. That is my first memory of my life on this planet we call earth. Not my mum or my dad, my brother or my sister but some nameless, faceless children on an unknown street and a puddle, all in black and white not colour.
Posts Tagged ‘reflection’
First memories
Posted: August 10, 2019 in flash fiction, Memories and reflections the collection, Personal life story, UncategorizedTags: childhood, early years, life, memories, reflecting, reflection
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ghosts of the mill
Posted: January 30, 2016 in Andy Smith, andyqby19, poem, Poems, poetry, UncategorizedTags: children, ghosts, haunt, men, mill, reflection, river, stares, stealing, women
the old, run down mill
stares at its reflection
in the deep darkness
of the still, silent river
as ghosts of men,
women and children
drift by on currents
stealing them away
to new places to haunt
Me…
Posted: July 19, 2015 in Andy Smith, poetryTags: am, Andrew, Andrew Smith, Andy Smith, anyone, dreams, I, me, meaning, myself, person, poem, poet, poetry, reflection, thinking, who, whoever
I’m not myself today
I’m not me, whoever me is…
But I’m not that person today
I was myself yesterday
And the day before that
Or at least the person I think is me…
Tomorrow I could be anyone!
The Queen of Hearts swimming in tarts
The owl, or the pussycat, or both
The Ancient Mariner rapping in rhyme
I can be anyone I want to be…
But who am I if I’m not me?
If me, is not me, who is me?
Which me is me? The real me?
The me that makes me, me…
But I don’t want to be
This version of me
Whoever this me is
I want to be me
But not this me
I’m not myself today
I’ve no idea who I am…
2014 Review
Posted: January 1, 2015 in Kim MooreTags: collection, events, Kim Moore, poet, poetry, reflection, review
Kim Moore’s first blog of 2015 a review of 2014.
Last night I got one of my many empty notebooks which live in my house and started to write down the name and date of all the Sunday Poets I’ve featured on this blog. I wanted a record of these names to check I hadn’t missed anybody off, but I was also curious to check the gender balance of the Sunday Poets as well.
I’ve had a little twinge of guilt every now and then because I felt like my enthusiasm for individual poems was driving the selection of the Sunday Poets – which is good, but the downside of this is that I had no idea whether I had an equal number of male and female poets. And I really want to keep an equal number really – so going forward in 2015 I will be keeping this at the back of my mind as the poems go up.
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Off Season
Posted: October 22, 2014 in off season, reflecting, resorts, seasideTags: autumn, blackpool, coast, coastal, deserted, desolate, margate, morecombe, observing, off season, old man, quiet, refelecting, reflection, resort, scarborough, sea, seaside, watching, winter
one more drag on the tab
as it flickers and fades
into the cool sea mist
never to taste his breathe again
as the sea stumbles
onto the wet tongue of tarmac
free at last to pleasure itself
with the shop windows
swinging pub signs
alternating neon lights
those are all that remain
of the holiday makers
caravan movers
and summer shakers
have left for another year
leaving behind dreams of
love lost, love found, love unrequited
in the echoes of the shells that
creep slowly over grains of sand
that cling to each other as the
seaweed crawls over them
hoping to reach the neon lights
that glint off the beach
that can breathe again now
it is free of the pounding of feet
the slams of bodies
the digging of castles
and he watches through eyes
washed by the mist of the sea
as the signs sing in the breeze
to a promenade where nobody walks
except for the sea
and the darkness filters in
sharpen the edges of a
town that slumbers
and he lights another cigarette and
tastes the sea salt on his lips
as the gulls sing one last song
