I drive up to the old house
Who is watching as I pass?
The old cows pause to glance at me
Still chewing on the tasty grass
I stop to take a photo
Don't miss an opportunity
Though no poem nor prose yet planned
One day that could inspire me
In my mind many scenes are played
I'll write a feature, or a book
A best-seller, made into films
Magazine letter, modestly paid
I find a handy parking place
It's early, so I grab the space
I run inside the open door
And search for a familiar face
It's so good to be me
When you say you're glad to see me
I'm sure it's good to be you
When I say, 'I'm glad to see you, too!'
In the bedroom I unpack
My brand new dress bought to impress
Discover vital things I lack
I must make do 'til I go back
I must admit a year has passed
An older face looks from the glass
We've had days and friends, good and bad
Erase the mad, embrace the glad
Circle the lounges in the break
And then sit down with chocolate cake
Delighted with new friends I'll make
Whilst handy tips I give and take
There's one gone I used to know
Gone to the place where old friends go
Ask mutual friends, 'D'you remember ...,' while
I see the ghost of her great smile
While strangers chat, some of them frown
Another calls, 'Come here, sit down!'
So this happy day is giving
New memories of those still living
I had to sit by a silent nerd
But he explained, glad to be heard
I exclaimed, 'Your head's full of value!'
And he was complimentary, too
In the hall I find an empty chair
The old piano stool is empty
But somebody new sits down
Their pounding music fills the air
Sometimes I read, sometimes I write
The happy days turn into nights
I listen, late night scribble notes
I don't want to turn off the light
Until the day we pack to go
Say goodbye, wave, to those we know
To new friends, now firm friends, so dear
I promise, 'I'll be here next year!'
-ends-
Writers' Summer School at the Hayes, Swanwick, Derbyshire, England.
People, now gone, who I remember:
1The piano player; I bought his signed book.
2 I miss Kim, who made a space for me on the sofa by moving up when others said no room. She looked me in the eye, and whispered conspiratorially, 'Some people are givers, some people are takers'.
3 Tony Greenfield, the luminary statistician. His son, Lance, was still active in the Swanwick writers' scene long after Tony was gone..
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tony_Greenfield
4 The helpful, knowledgeable, newbie nerd later became a valued committee member and is still always active.
I changed some folks made you mad. Now others make you glad, too many syllables. I wrote this poem in 2025, and found it before setting off for Swanwick in 2026. Lance not there.
