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Sunday, January 1, 2012

WILMA SEVILLE

Happy New Year to you all.  It is January 1, 2012 and I thought it might be nice to start the blog off with a Narrative Poem I wrote several years ago.  It is one of my favourites as it tells a story.  I personally love writing narrative style poetry and rhyming poetry the best.

Hope you enjoy it.



HARRY FLANNIGAN


A house steeped in sorrow, looking unsightly
Harry’s home, born there seventy years ago in May
the Flannigans, Mother, Father, Sister, all dead
died young, decent people, death- by motor car.

Harry lives alone, except for Sammy
in fifty years he’s had several cats at home
never married, his mind affected
by the terrible crash which snatched his whole family.

Harry alone survived the accident
damage to his face and ears with loss of hearing
an ugly scar running from eyebrow to neck
disfiguring his former good looks.

Old Harry, friendless, alone  except for “Sammy”
went to bed one night, all doors and windows bolted
sleeping soundly as his custom was, never dreaming
in the basement, danger lurked waiting till he slept.

His bony body, snug in his boyhood iron bed
Familiar place felt secure
Unhearing ears on sleeping man
Did not hear the creaking stairs.

An intruder filled with hate and anger
intent on grabbing valuables to sell for cash
to feed his addiction to crack cocaine
Steadily mounted the stairs.


The hidden knife in dirty tattered jeans pocket
betrayed his awful motive in coming there
old Harry, defenseless and frail, lying so still
seemed to taunt the mind of the crazed dope addict.

Harry awoke with a start, uncertain of the danger he sensed
his sleep crusted eyes focused in the dim light
not seeing clearly the awful presence hovering near his bed
the steel blade clutched in hands that shook


Sammy lying beside him, claws extended, was no match

yowling filled the stillness of the upstairs bedroom
hunting knife plunging into arched orange body
crimson blood spattered on white crumpled bed sheets

In spite of hard, difficult and trying times in Harry’s life
loss of family, good looks, hearing and no wife or children
the will to live in him continued very strong
he tried to fight against the younger person

Harry watched in horror as the hand came closer to him
his mind still groggy with insufficient sleep
his only thought, escape the smelly vile man
who held the blood stained hunting knife.

His blood mingled with that of Sammy,
As he took his last breath
Together in life, together in death.




©WilmaSeville 2009


Read at Philpot, my Nov. 15/09 party, ArtWord/Arbar April 3/11, my party, April 10/11, Puddicombe Farm 2011 and published by John Stiles in England..

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