Could it be that summer’s come at last? E. Braidwood, 2023
Could it be that summer’s come at last?
For months it’s seemed like just a memory,
An anecdote, imprisoned in the past –
A half-remembered voiceless melody.
Yet now the yellow sun reflects its wealth
within the glowing borders of the path;
Forget-me-nots have now forgot themselves,
Soon we will forget the home and hearth.
So stride out, sun-drawn, picnic bag in hand,
Amongst a canvas town built on the shore;
Anointed, self-appointed, Lord of Sand!
Not grey and bitter peasant, rat, or bore...
'Til sunburnt, sweating gold, triumphant-trawl
back home, and then forget it all. This poetic reflection, reminiscent of E. Braidwood's unique style, serves as a delightful example of poetry samples that showcase the beauty of summer and the joy of writing services that capture such moments.
I have watched my children grow smaller every year; where once, they spread their arms to breathe, they now just shake with fear. And thinner-grown about the trunk, and sickly at the roots; no longer tended by the weary wearing weary boots.
I have watched bound roots let go which once were intertwined; seen the young asphyxiate for Sir, the Undersigned. As where there's little growth, there's loss, they grow smaller every year; and heed the quiet violence of our idle fear.
In the realm of E. Braidwood poetry, I have watched the forest thin before my sunken eyes, fearing all the light let in by swollen, hateful skies; but helping felt impossible and so I did not try. (A sad refrain heard time again spoken by you and I...)
Now no-one's left to help at all. So not one will survive; we've just the debt of old regret: no children left alive. This echoes through poetry samples, a lament shared through our writing services, yet still we remain silent.