Most of the poems featured in this column are within the standard competition length of forty lines, and many considerably shorter. A longer poem, however, gives the opportunity to expand on the theme, while the dynamics of poetry mean that any expanded version will still have the poem’s intensity while allowing the reader a little more latitude to appreciate its contents.
THE VISIT
You take the number twenty-three bus: it stops right by the gate.
Then you start the long walk up the gravel drive, hedges and bushes border each side.
Skeletal leaves litter the ground.
Your nostrils prickle with their moist scents of decay.
Go over the wooden bridge, pause to play Poohsticks and watch the waterfall’s tumble wrinkle reflections.
Continue on: the road narrows and bends past a rhododendron island – in the spring a flourish of white and pink. Behind it stands the mansion, now derelict, note the ivy’s relentless grip.
On your right is the wooded copse where crows circle above spiked twig nests. Stop and listen to their caws, catch your breath and rest aching bones.
Follow the drive down to the white cottage.
A beaming brass knocker shouts a welcome.
Mother appears wearing her best dress and a pink lipstick smile. She shows you into the lounge where Father sits in his chair.
You kiss him on the cheek, take off your coat and sit down.
Mother brings in cups of tea on a tray, served in her best china – blue and white willow pattern. There’s a doily-ed plate of homemade ginger cake.
Father asks about your journey, talks about religion and the value of the pound.
Every now and then he gives a belly laugh which shakes sherry glasses on the sideboard.
When it’s time to go they show you to the door, smile as they watch you leave.
You walk back up the hill. At the top you stop and turn around to wave a final goodbye, but they have already gone.