"Only Really Time Will Show" and other poems for, and by, Yvonne

Only Really Time Will Show

My heart is aching; you complain
That Romance lacks in my domain.
It seems to me small fault indeed;
I'd thought that Words, you didn't need.
I thought you knew my love was real
And you would sense what I did feel
From the system that I chose
Of solid Tokens, bare of  prose,
Believing that these things implied
The sort of Love I feel inside,
While Words are futile, cheap to throw,
And, only really Time will show.

But now I see that all these things -
Like souvenirs, and silver Rings -
Do not appear to quite convey
The words I really mean to say;
And while they may express intent
They lack the feeling that I meant;
Unless of course I'm there in fact
To give the Token what is lacked.

But fortunately now this Space
Between us, serves to make a case
For putting, at the present time,
Sincere emotions into rhyme.
For as we are so far apart
We need the message heart to heart.

A poet I've not lately been;
My stable mind had quit the scene.
It needs a rough-and-tumble mind
Of Turmoil, Fear, and Things Unkind,
Of Hopes unfurnished, Wishes slighted,
And in my case, Love unrequited.

But you of course have filled my head
With thoughts of Happiness instead,
So you must see that you're the cause
Of this late Poetic Pause.

My heart no longer wanders lost,
Around your own its arms are crossed,
It loves you in its only way
And wishes by your side to lay,
To guard you, guide you, keep you well,
And always next to you to dwell.

A year or two may seem a score,
But then, we hope for fifty more.
Together we will make our ways 
And share the rain and sunny days.

A Lifelong Plan cannot survive -
We'll cross each bridge as we arrive.
We must retain some give and take
While firm commitments we shall make.

This lovely World we shall explore -
The Cornish Coast, the Suffolk Shore,
The Hills of Wales, the Irish green,
And when these islands we have seen,
A little bit of World each year
Will stop our lives becoming drear.

Perhaps I'm wrong, when all is said,
To speculate so far ahead.
Though we must have an aim to keep
Of Harvest ripening to reap,
To nourish Love in future Time
When Novelty is past its Prime.

My heart is always Yours despite
The fact that you're now out of sight.
And if the same to you applies
Our future will need no disguise.
But what will pass, we cannot know,
For, only really Time will show.

Written July 1975, for Yvonne
To Yvonne,  21st November 1974
I saw you first in Bungay square
Within the Butter Cross.
I hardly noticed you were there
Until you came across.
I showed you, and our common friend,
My pets, the rats and snake.
I thought that that would be the end -
No future could I make.
At Bungay Fete I saw you next -
You smiled at me unceasing.
I had no choice but come, perplexed,
My warmth for you increasing.
We stood and chatted for a while,
My mind in disbelief,
And though I fancied you, your smile
I thought would bring me grief.
I took you out again each week,
And when I had the nerve
I kissed you quickly on the cheek;
You acted with reserve.
We saw each other every day,
We smiled and talked and kissed,
My thoughts at work were far away -
I found that you, I missed.
You wrote to me on holiday
And I wrote back again.
And when myself I went away
The next verse I wrote then:
"I miss you sitting by my side,
Your hand upon my thigh.
I wish to never be denied
The twinkle in your eye."
I know that while I go away
My thoughts will be of you.
I trust that your thoughts too will say -
"Each to the other true."
Yvonne's reply:-

Other Lives
Unspoken declarations, a story never told,
Nipping off the the bud of what could never now unfold.
Why did he never tell her? Why was it left unsaid?
Instead he caused bewilderment within her youthful head.
He felt a need to travel  - oh, it did not matter where,
What struck her most was that it seemed he'd leave without a care.
Excited about heading somewhere off the beaten track,
It all seemed just so easy - he would go, and not look back.
It wasn't something she would do, she could not understand
Why he would want to venture towards some far foreign land.
Was she not enough for him? Was this the future planned?
Well then, let him go - he was not worthy of her hand.
That may seem a harsh judgment but what else was she to do?
She could not be responsible for things she never knew.
They say that if you love something, then you should set it free;
Other lives were lived and she knew hers was meant to be.
So many years have intervened, yet now they melt away
And he and she are young again, reliving far-off days.
Would it have made a difference had those precious words been shown?
It's a piercing, burning question - but the answer is unknown.

Thoughts before we met again.

Though years have passed since we two last
Each other's hands did hold,
Through years between, of summers green,
And autumns grey and gold;

Though you had marked your only path,
While I has lost my way,
Still now I find you come to mind.
Just sometimes. Every day.


at sunrise, when the day was fresh and new,
you gave to me wild flowers damp with dew
and in the sparkling freshness of the dawn
we gazed upon the golden fields of corn
contrasting with the cloudless azure sky -
we were so happy then, just you and I...
but time flies fast when morning is so young
the song inside my heart is left unsung
for you have never known the torment sweet
of loving with a love so incomplete
and now, as day is drawing to its close,
you give to me a single scented rose,
symbolic of a love that can't exist -
then you vanish through the hazy evening mist.

Two Short Poems by Yvonne
(when she was very young)


My Master, I grew up with you,
Remember the day I came?
Remember I cried all through the night?
Remember our very first game?

Remember you used to spank me
For puddling on the floor?
Remember swiftly picking me up
And putting me out of the door?

Remember me chewing your jumper?
Remember me eating your shoe?
And the time when I ate the toothpaste?
I remember it well - do you?

Remember the cat from up the road
That I used to chase to the tree?
The firemen had to rescue him once -
He's dead now. R.I.P.

My master, you are older now,
But far too old am I.
The needle's ready to go in.
Goodbye, kind Master, goodbye . . .


It is the Year Two Thousand and Fifty.
There is no Life on Earth
And no vegetation. All land is barren
And the water is not clear liquid
But greenish-brown slime.
The air is foul and poisonous;
Dangerous to inhale. It would kill
If there were lives to destroy.
The soil contains chemicals,
So many that if plant-life existed
It could not survive.
Dwellings are reduced to rubble
And if any still remain intact
They are now worthless
For they will never be inhabited again.
Earth is no longer an asset
To the Universe;
It is a revolving orb
Of bleakness.
So much for progress.

More Poems by Yvonne

Angel's Feather -

I thought I heard a whisper

in the quiet of the night

I reached out to my bedside lamp

so it could shed some light

But all around was silent

the home was still asleep

so very slowly I got up

and through the house did creep


And that is when I saw what seemed

a small star shining bright

which for a moment bathed the room

with soft and subtle light

Then something caught my eye

as I stood there in the hall

and in rapturous amazement

I watched a feather fall


So white and pure and perfect!

I marvelled at its sheen

that beautiful memento

of what I had just seen

Is it wishful thinking

or a wondrous sign from God –

a feather on the very spot

where once an angel trod?


Pistols At Dawn

The old day is over
A new one is born
Coffee at Thurrock
Pistols at dawn