{"id":6217,"date":"2015-12-04T23:00:24","date_gmt":"2015-12-04T12:00:24","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/write4publish.com\/?p=6217"},"modified":"2022-06-13T10:56:24","modified_gmt":"2022-06-13T00:56:24","slug":"a-guest-poem-first-loves-by-roger-britton","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.anneskyvington.com.au\/a-guest-poem-first-loves-by-roger-britton\/","title":{"rendered":"A Guest Poem: “First Loves” by Roger Britton"},"content":{"rendered":"
One night, on hearing a piece of music, grief overwhelmed me. I sat down and wrote this poem, fifty-seven years after the event. I rushed into it with little regard to rhyme, rhythm or scan.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The strains of Carrick Fergus<\/em> reeled my memories in, Back to the sea, midst the roar of waves So pure, what wondrous dreams that lived Where are you now my other self? Across the years I find you in secluded places But I have aged, my love, and someone else now shares my heart You beckon, willing me to come I just happened to put on some Celtic music and this song came on. Suddenly I started to tear and I realized that it was music from my youth, and my first real love: Jenny. We were both 15 and blissfully and naively in love. One night her stepfather, an ex-boxer, and a drunkard, punched her in the nose. Blood spread everywhere. He was jealous of our affection. After the assault, he locked her in her room so we couldn\u2019t meet.<\/p>\n On that dreadful night, he also stomped in the spokes of her pushbike so that she couldn\u2019t ride away. When he was asleep, she shinnied out her window and caught the last bus to Lismore. She sought refuge in a girlfriend\u2019s house where she knew they would never look.<\/p>\n Roger couldn’t find the original tune that moved him so much. And I couldn’t find his YouTube song to embed in the post. At least this version by Joan Baez expresses the theme of this post: Young Love<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
\nwhile flooding tears filled my eyes.
\nWas it the time of youth I mourned
\nor someone lost and loved?<\/p>\n
\nI wandered, pleading the night again,
\nhoping; waiting for she who never came.
\nIt was the end of youthful love.<\/p>\n
\non each other\u2019s breath.
\ndestroyed by a felon, hate-filled till his death.
\nA dreadful deed, done in drunken desire.<\/p>\n
\nWhat have they done, how do you fare,
\nhas life been kind?
\nAnd, am I ever on your mind?<\/p>\n
\nyour name in books, a friend bespoke,
\nlock of shiny hair, a faded photograph forever young.
\nSmiling, promising, our song you sung.<\/p>\n
\nwith those same promises.
\nYet unexpectedly, upon a tune you call
\nand fill me with a love so strong that tears do fall.<\/p>\n
\nthough I cannot: our time has passed, too many years.
\nMemories so long have run
\nBut still I love you, midst my falling tears.<\/p>\n\u00a9 Roger Britton<\/strong><\/h6>\n
Roger Continues …<\/h4>\n
Anne writes …<\/h4>\n