All the Stars Bow Down

All the Stars Bow Down

For Fiona

When my eyes first captured
your face, the light
imprinted my memory;
the Sun turned to cool blue
and all the stars bowed down.

When we touched, our hands
then our lips, unified,
bonded with rose-red kisses,
the Moon stopped in the sky
and all the stars bowed down.

As time and gravity bend our lives
the light will never dim, it shines
more gloriously.
Mercury takes flight,
Venus smiles,
Mars accepts the hand of peace,
the Sun turns to cool blue,
the Moon stops in the sky
and all the stars bow down.

Tim Fellows February 14th 2020

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

Butterscotch

This is written in memory of my granddad James William "Bill" Hooper (1908-2002)

Butterscotch

He rarely ventures from the house,
the narrow terrace, tucked away
in the back streets of his familiar
town. Just to the shops, lamb chops
or a few shillings each way bets.

Dressed for the occasion
- suit, tie and trilby -
on a pilgrimage, one man
among the thronging chatter,
no champagne lunch for him
in the warmth of the grandstand.

Fingers calloused from fifty
years labour at the pit. Surface work,
didn't pay so well but not in the
hole that crushed his brother.
Tracing the names on the card,
searching for the right one.

It's not the money, it's the thrill
of the race, the win. It was never
worth the risk when money was
so hard earned.

This has been his day, his escape.

Back to the train,
boxes of butterscotch in a bag
for the nippers. Perhaps with more
coins and notes than he came with,
perhaps not.

He enters the silent house,
banks the fire
and settles into the settee.
He closes his eyes and dreams
of thundering hooves,
flashing colours splattered with mud,
straining muscles,
wild eyes
and feels
the rising
exhilaration.

Tim Fellows 2019