Member Rara Avis
Durban, South Africa
Thank you Faith. I am so glad you replied to this because it alerted me to a problem.
I thought I had put in a long reply since about how very happy the house is now, but that reply and some of the others are missing. At first I thought my Internet connection must have got cut off before I could save it, although, because of my sometimes intermittent and often even unstable Internet connection, I usually reply in Word and then copy it into my reply.
I have just found what I saved. I don’t know what happened (perhaps it got lost when it was archived), but here is what there was before:
by Diana van den Berg
3 July 2010
pierce your sun-walls
and inner cardio-sanctum,
but halcyon skies
can hold tomorrow’s
fluffy snow-white reveries,
in my sorrowed heart.
© copyright Diana van den Berg
Passions in Poetry: http://piptalk.com/
Passionate Forums: http://piptalk.com/main/Ultimate.cgi?action=intro&BypassCookie=true
This Poem: http://piptalk.com/pip/Forum112/HTML/003843.html
Alison As I admire the way you write and your use of words to create a rainbow of poetry, I want to reach through the sceen and hug you as I time-travel back to July.
How's that for a sentence?
Love you, Owly.
secondhanddreampoet love those "halcyon skies ...
(and) fluffy snow-white reveries(!)"
Margherita Dear Diana, your poem is incredibly poignant and almost mystic.
Love and hugs.
JerryPat Where there lies a beating heart
A chance for love a la carte
Marchmadness Beautiful words, Owl. A powerful creation.
OwlSA Thank you my very dear friend, Alison. Love you too. You actually did reach through the screen because I got the hug and it did wonders for me. I have become a bit of a hermit as my precious Daisy-dog went to Heaven on 18 December 2009 at the age of 14½ and my precious Tigger-cat went to Heaven on 26 October 2010 at the age of 15½. I know others are going through much worse, but I just feel so lost and dead inside without my babies, although Flicka and Daisy and Tigger are altogether and happy and all send me cloud messages every day. Besides I don’t have much time as I have a 4-day a week job at which I earn half a peanut and am trying to get my company moving but it isn’t easy on 1 day a week and then the community takes up a lot of my time too. I come into Pip and read now and then and want to reply, but just haven’t brought myself around to it, but I will. I haven’t written much at all either. If I was rich enough, I would place an order for you to create me a time-machine too, so that I could be with Flicka, Tigger and Daisy again – it would have to be the very best time machine there is because it would have to be simultaneously for before Flicka went to Heaven (28/04/2002) and after I becames Daisy’s (24/05/2004), but if anyone can do that, I know that you would be able to.
Thank you, Bruce. Yes, with your intimate bond with Nature, especially the skies and especially lately, I know you understand that part particularly.
Thank you, Margherita – you “got it” completely!
Thank you, JerryPat. It seems you are right, though I found it difficult to believe it was possible.
Thank you, Ida for your kind and appreciative words.
This poem was about the house next door. I have lived next door to it since May 1983 and have had several neighbours, but the last ones were there for about 12 years and were my favourites. Their family broke up and they left over a period of many months. At first, the house was standing empty over weekends and the wife and youngest child were there during the week. Then they left and the house stood empty for ages. Then the husband and girl friend were there over the weekends and then sometimes stayed during the week. They eventually left and said goodbye to me around the end of November. The new neighbours took a couple of weeks or so to move in. Before they moved in they cut the grass; then they fixed the roof; then they painted the roof (my 3rd-favourite green for a roof, but nice nevertheless); then they painted the house outside and it appears inside too. The colour on the outside walls was a very elegant very pale stone colour which looked good with the roof, but more elegant than warm. I loved the previous warm colour – a sunkissed pale peach that glowed happiness in the early and late afternoon sunshine. They have now moved in properly and I found them to be lovely, lovely people when I went to welcome them and tell them about the community networks. Thankfully, they have small children so there have been and will be more sounds of children playing next door.
At the time I wrote the poem, the wife and youngest daughter were staying in the house during the week as the child (Amahle) was going to the local school. The other children were already staying with relations and at other schools. I missed the sound of children playing next door. I missed seeing the family and chatting over the wall from time to time. I ached for the house. It felt as though the situation was going on forever and that it would never be inhabited again (and in fact it was truly months before the new people moved in). The house seemed so lonely and sad even when the sun hugged it in the late afternoon. It had had children playing there for so many years – my own children played there with the then neighbours’ children so long ago too – I just couldn’t bear the house’s pain. However, I had been sad for the house before, and yet it had had renewed happiness with new inhabitants several times over and I knew academically, that it could happen again, though emotionally it seemed almost impossible to me. As lovely as the new neighbours seem to be, I wish they hadn’t made their house elegant rather than warm, but I can forgive them because I believe that the house is slowly starting to be happy again.
JamesMichael Fine writing...so smooth...James
OwlSA Thank you James. I am glad you enjoyed it.
Yesterday the trees next door started to be used again, for what they are intended - having happy children climbing them, whilst calling to their neighbour.
A few days ago, to see washing on the line again warmed my heart and the lovely bright colours had me rushing for my camera to celebrate and commemorate them, the moment itself and its significance.