Poetry of SlyM

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Remnants (Sept 2008)

An unobserved and silent wisp of smoke
Which rises up but doesn't weave about
(As if a pen had made a single stroke)
Is all that marks the fire going out.
The curtains have been drawn, and in the gloom
The hearth, except for powdered ash, lies bare
The only sound which penetrates the room
Is of the hallway clock beside the stair.
The knitting in its basket has been laid
And where it slipped from off the leather seat
The daily paper lies with pages splayed
Upon the carpet fringes, combed and neat.
The wife most likely said she would retire
The husband would agree, and take his leave.
With lights gone out, and slowly too, the fire,
Does anything remain from this fair eve?
It could not last
And so it passed
Away.
But grace, or good
Some difference could
Still stay.
The house respires with warm and vital breath
Which comforts those who in their beds are laid.
There's not the frozen silence as of death
Instead, the quiet warmth the fire made.

In empty vastness stands the dancing floor
While guests take up their cloaks and leave the ball.
Where all was swaying, laughing life before
The maiden Aunt sits sleeping by a wall.
As singles, groups or pairs the people flow
Through double doors into the fresh night air.
Some clump in conversation, others go
Off through the streets where rows of lanterns flare.
Inside, a scarf of lilac chiffon lays
Concealed beneath the seat from which it fell.
This loss though, goes unnoticed many days
By its romantic, young, excited belle.
When footfalls fade and pass into the night
And all the chandeliers hang in the dark
And air has lost its perfume and delight
Then will the ball have left the slightest mark?
It could not last
And so it passed
Away.
But grace, or good
Some difference could
Still stay.
From every debutant wrapped up in tulle
And every gent whose arm they did adorn
A liveliness shines forth, as from a jewel;
Enchanted hopes that at the dance were born.

He moves off slowly, down the sunny street
Then glances back, with churning mind and heart
But She, the first to make him feel complete
Is gone, and both must travel on apart.
The way that love is felt shall through the years
Develop, as the stream does through its course
In turbulence or ease past new frontiers.
But he's just left the river's sparkling source.
He wished he'd put his feelings into words
But, he himself could understand them not.
And now, the city park, with clustered birds
And children seems a silent, empty spot.
Does anything for this sad soul remain
Besides a vague regret there wasn't more?
It seems the world is meaningless and plain;
Mere shadows of the life it held before.
It could not last
And so it passed
Away.
But grace, or good
Some difference could
Still stay.
There's comfort knowing someone truly cared
And understood the thoughts he had to tell.
There's confidence he can again be paired:
If one exists, then others could as well.

The empty hand is held aloft and still.
It cannot be by any eyes ignored.
A silence fused with tension comes to fill
The concert hall, once past the final chord.
The instruments are not yet laid aside
The public is unsure if it goes on
the choir has their parts still open wide
Already though, the short lived music's gone.
In little time the great applause will come.
The people breathe again and look around
Then exit from the auditorium
And all that's left is background city sound.
Will anything remain of this brief time,
This moment, held by some conductor's hands?
When in our ears, the echos cease to chime
And notes are taken from the music stands.
It could not last
And so it passed
Away.
But grace, or good
Some difference could
Still stay.
For all who shared in this experience
The memory shall shine, as does a star.
The music was absorbed and in that sense
Remains for life; A part of who they are.


(written for Tobias Gravenhorst. Musical Director of Sankt Michaelis in Lüneburg, 1994 - 2008 )