Poem: Eternal Silence

To think that one day I will not feel
the sun’s rays kiss my skin as spring beckons
the bluebells and honeysuckles in
to droop and arch in bell and lantern shapes

while under my feet the crackle
of twigs against earth disturb
a blackbird with an orange
beak; it warbles and tweets a sanguine

tune as it skips off its perch on a bark
up high. I close my eyes and recall
with a sigh the kite I flew when I was eight
running through a narrow graveyard gate...

To think that one day I will not raise
my hands in midair and twirl in a circle
without a care, breathing in the smell
of freshly-cut grass, or admire the dimpled face

of a child peppered with freckles
while he suckles on a popsicle, or of the twins
lolling on swings in the village green; their glee
merging with the natter of mothers and passersby...

To think that one day I will not share a laugh
nor a tear with a friend or more:
over love and loss, or a disgruntled boss,
the missed flight last summer, the lasagne gone sour,

the parking fine, the baby I always dreamt of having –
as the years drift like blossoms fluttering off a tree
these images and sounds will one day cease, become a fibre
of fiction woven in the flesh of an eternal silence.


Catherine Mark


I came across a great quote today and thought I’d share it with you (I’m dipping into a wonderful collection of short stories by Anton Chekhov, 'About Love & Other Stories' (translated by Rosamund Bartlett)): “...Everything is beautiful in this earth, everything that is, except what we think and do when we forget about the higher purpose of existence and about our human dignity.” (Checkhov, The Lady with the Little Dog).