Easter dreamscape

Easter Dreamscape

Day 21: write a poem that incorporates wild, surreal images. Try to play around with writing that doesn’t make formal sense, but which engages all the senses and involves dream-logic. 

What better subject than to recall childhood Easters in Devon in the 60s?


Car journeys in a too small car,  lasting all day
Chanting the list of towns as we pass through
Chocolate eggs melting on the parcel shelf
Dear old farmer and his wife, dearer than grandparents
Lean and fat,  like Jack and Mrs Sprat
Took in two evacuees - my dad and uncle
So long ago,  ancient history, 
Rough and gentle at the same time
Kittens hiding from the sack,  found high in the hay loft, 
Slimy mouthed cows barring the way to the cowshed
Arguments with my sister about what to do next
Arguing in the car there and back, 
"Will you two stop it!" 
"We can't stop yet,  you'll just have to hold it in!"
Trailing after her all day, climbing hay bales, 
Strange weeds in the farm yard - tiny yellow balls
Never identified in case they lose their power
Picking wild flowers for wilting bouquets on walks in the sunshine, 
Roads empty of traffic, lined with hedges, gardens, fields
Walking to church,  morning and evening, 
Bright bunches of flowers in the dim light
Brought by women from farms all around
Dust swirling in the sun's rays, against the dark pews
Fidgeting in Sunday best dresses, 
Hymn books with transparent pages 
Hymn numbers on a board behind the vicar
My favourite hymns of green hills far away
I still prefer sad music 
Church suppers of delicate thin sandwiches, fruit cake, scones
Easter Sunday celebrations,  joy and chocolate
Eating the Smarties inside before the egg shell
Saving its melting sweetness, keeping the best till last
Foil wrappers, blue, red, gold
Their rich scent calling me back for just one more bite
The sweet smell of hay,  cows being milked
Cream kept in the pantry,  too delicious to resist
Kitchen table loaded with home made food, 
Family together, laughter, plenty, 
All things bright and beautiful.
© Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

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