Basically just a combination of letters to convey meaning or belief from one brain to another
.
Yet they become a source of power, spanning different languages, lifetimes and centuries.
A form of great and longer lasting influence than any other forms of expression.
In the same way by me being able to access my mothers thought processes as a young adult in a time frame of WW2 before I was born, my written words will hopefully provide an insight for my decedents to understand my world.
Far down the gully
A bird’s clear cry.
And on the hill
Three pines against the sky.
Sun-shadows long
And silence sweet
And time gone by.
Maybe in years to come
When men resist
The challenge of the drink
And hear no more
The sound of marching feet.
Then as the hills and pines and sky
There will be peace complete.
Elisabeth Howse-1945
“The Fossil Fool High on Fossil Fuel”
From the ‘Not Now Generation’
Beware of the wounded fossil.
Deaf & blind in their comfort zone.
Their power, they feel it drifting.
Self-isolated now feeling so alone.
Their iron grip once strong is sliding.
Slowly and surely out of their control.
Those pesky once loyal young offspring.
Now thinking all different from the fold.
How dare they now oppose their will.
Schools the place to accept what’s right
Something wrong ? Yes it is, The fossil
They bred you strong and now you fight.
You fight like they did, same age and stage.
You see your future threatened very clear.
What you feel they refuse to discuss or see.
The glaring truth creating fear and very near.
So if you see such a fossil, take a wide berth.
For they are confused, angry and feeling hurt.
Any approach to try to explain just why you care.
Will result in expletives laden with personal dirt.
Those fossils have chosen to be irrelevant and old.
Just leave them behind where they want to be.
While you push ahead with your future, instead !
Hamish Holcombe 30-11-2019
Two poems written by mum, appear in my book "Creations from Generations" a book of shared poems of Mum's work between 1941 to 1946 and my work written the past 8 years.
They had different headings with different interpretations and all to do with changing just two words.
Mum's work I got from hand written notes or sometimes typed on her 'clattering old typewriter'
Whether it was a typo on my part from transcribing mum's material from 1942 or they were two different thought processes when she was putting the words together, is largely irrelevant.
The fact is both poems from two different pieces of paper, made it into our book with two separate meanings for me, I put it down to the fascinating power of words.
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