My Mind

Personal website of M.G. Daniel. Sharing poetry, my writings, snippets from my life and whatever's on my mind.

Home is where you’re rooted and where you’ve nested.

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Went for a walk in the park this beautiful afternoon. Tropical kind of summer day. A happy memory and a jolt of joy came when I saw the sunbathing park people – towels spread, shirts off, love and laughter in the gentle wind. I was thinking about “home” and all that word calls to mind. My conclusion: home is where your heart is rested and also where your feet are planted.

Reminded me of a poem from my Mindfield collection, after I had been in England one summer.

 

THE GRASS IS GREENER

 

I will remember England fondly,

Miss my friends dearly, but it is

Not the nightclubs of Birmingham

That hold me like a swain,

 

Or galleries, parks, and theatres

Which make me want to remain.

It is a cow, lying on the countryside,

Ruminating memories of my childhood pastures.

 

It is the grey of houses, caught in days dull

As the mist pressing down on the spirit of

Childless streets, marking time to winter pain,

Stomping feet to hasten the homeward train.

 

I did not always like the flowers of snow

Showers, sometimes envied the blooms of spring,

But it is not the gloom of early nightfall

That drives me nostalgic, or friendless faces

 

In a downpour which make me homesick.

It is the stark greenery of summer, when

The kingdom blossoms, and bares bodies

Etiolated, when nude skies mate

 

With towel-terraced lawns, groping at

The fleeting sexuality of a sun, which

Comes so rarely here, but is commonplace at

Home, where years are sold unquartered.

 

Only once, in summer, I heard the laugher

Of England, a familiar clatter of pots echoing

Round my village hills, saw time’s cosmetic surgeon

Unpeel layers of coldness, shed grimness, a nation

 

Made over for a period so brief, to reveal

People; a clutter of men, rollicking, moments

Round a rosebush. I want to tell them of

My island, where there is always a blue sky

 

Powdered with puffs of white clouds,

And the horizon’s pub close at hand

To reach for a drink and expand in warmth,

Soaking in the beauty of a sunset;

 

That of need, we live in foreign lands

For rejuvenation; when the mind stalls,

We rev off to Englands for a dip in the

El Dorado of the other side; and return.

 

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Author: M.G. Daniel

I am a lifelong scribbler who is now focusing on poetry and becoming more established as a writer.

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