Brenda Williams

Words towards an Obituary for Poetry

This is a road I never thought to know
Where memory is mimicking the end,
The future descends on the faculty
Of my soul, my mind struggling for a foothold in
Existence, always the poem, always
The unheard, there is nothing in my hands,
I leave with nothing this world understands.
Unimaginable those early days
The spirit conjuring its poetry,
Forgiveness he cannot borrow or lend
Words unfinished as the first light of day,
Lost as they are, forever on the way
The flickering candle he cannot trim
The undesciphered script of tomorrow.

7th July 2015

For a precious grandson
How I have missed you,
Never having known you
Down the long months.
I am your grandmother,
Brenda, and you will
Become the Keeper
Of my poetry in the years
To come. Welcome dear one

19th November 2014

Brenda Williams © 2015

The Closed Door

for Eli Williams, aged four days

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on; nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

So soon, too soon, my grandson was torn from
Me, my lifeless arms left empty of him,
Never having known our newborn embrace,
Nor ever having seen his first known face.
I exist now with the memory of
You already, our brief life forbidden,
A candle, burnt out, before it even
Had a chance to soar, to magnify my
Dreams in the silence of time and to make
Them last for evermore. Before you were
Ever born, you kept me alive for nine
Months more, anchored at the core of being
To the closed door to come. How to endure
When time is no more than a starless shore.

13th August 2014

The world is larger now that you are here,
A new frontier palpable and sheer,
The days sear far into the stratosphere.
Your memory, perpetually near,
Is a bulwark for the hours as they veer,
The unsalvaged years from Truth and Beauty
Roll back low as though their own tsunami
And wake, and break against infinity,
I hear in the echoing terminus
The last mayday and muted sound of us.
In this bleak world between heaven and hell,
Time was left to spiral in parallel,
Yours was the face I never thought to see,
Unimaginable the time to be.

22nd August 2014

Brenda Williams © 2015