Somewhere in Time, a poem by Tony Ashenden at Spillwords.com

Somewhere in Time

Somewhere in Time

written by: Tony Ashenden

 

I

We’ll go east, west, wherever’s best
down garlanded leaf shaded lanes.
Mortals without plan, purpose, or price
heading for the green untrammelled earth.
Who knows what gems we will find
when the email and phone are left behind?

 

II

Curious, in want of some old-fashioned tea
off the beaten track, we drove
past cows on road, sheep on verges,
turning; where to now? there’s a cottage café
thatched and worse for wear; an open door.
Our taste buds anticipate, we stop to explore.

 

III

A low beam ceiling gives a closed in feeling,
the windows are small the chairs worn
and the counter displays farm eggs.
Beyond is a kitchen of sorts, and a kettle sings.
A tousled head with long sideburns pops up.
‘It’s coming on twelve –be you wanting a cup?’

 

IV

‘You’ll have some tea, cakes maybe?
Sit yourself down the rooms’ all yours.’
We look at the bare boarded floor
the unpainted oak blackened door, and then
at this bent great hulk of man, and say
‘Tea for two please, apple pies and cream.’

 

V

Strangely, he makes no sound moving around.
His eyes purr ‘my pleasure,’ he says ‘-come far?’
‘Portsmouth’ I say. ‘Is that so?’ he replies,
ambling off with a shake of the head. ‘Well, I be.’
All is silent –what can he be doing back there?
The silence is deafening, like a church at prayer.

 

VI

The mustiness of wood makes us feel good,
the smells of coal ash and oiled table cloth,
the sight of a clock that silently ticks
all fits -when the room darkened by cloud
starts doing something and opens our minds,
slipping and sliding into past times.

 

VII

Serge and coarse vests jostle and rest
starched collars and crinolines appear,
chained Albert’s and hatpins sparkle with light.
We hear pipes tapped, the snorting of snuff,
feel the smell of leather and tangy felt hat.
The growl of a dog facing a cat.

 

VIII

‘Now here’s a rose fresh cut –somebody knows!’
And he gives me a nod and a wink.
I swear I didn’t ask this tousled grey head!
Awake as from sleep, smilingly secret
we toast adventure, a day to remember
you, me, and the apple pie vendor.

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