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Literature Text
The Early Lights
I spend mornings, afternoons and evenings
leant towards the lane of your memory,
Remembering the days when we were little,
Longing so much to spend those days again with you.
To run with you just one more time
across meadows of yellow-bellied greens
with tears of azure sky beneath our feet
as slippery dew on the familiar grasses.
A cycle to Nana's, Mum trailing behind,
Trafficking streets we had not known before,
To reach the places we enjoyed and loved
to amble in the humble simplicity of life.
Reaching out to touch the younger days
when we'd watch Pokémon together,
I find myself trying to catch the stars
which unfortunately are simply too far away.
I replay those naïve moments
so that I'll always know them off by heart,
So that they're always close – just a glance away,
And that when I close my eyes they will be there.
Memories of us in the infancies of Spring,
Catching bumblebees in glass jars and bottles,
Celebrating in the refreshed March air
each year of the season's turnabout.
Those better days seem sweeter than ever
when I had you to make me smile,
When we would walk to school together,
Not ashamed to say, "My brother is my best friend."
When we would climb the trees together
and play tig even though it was just the two of us,
Exhausted and tired, a sleepy two we'd be,
Letting go of the days, we'd then fall asleep
in the rooms we shared since you were born.
I think of the days when we'd wake in the early lights
of Saturday mornings to jump around,
To make a mount of cushions and climb to the top
to fall again to the carpet of our life.
To run around the rooms as Mum and Dad slept
oblivious to the mayhem we created beneath,
And to run when they wake, dawned to our play,
Their fury tended towards us two
but we shared the blame between us – as a whole.
Together we were excitement and adventure,
We discovered the world side by side,
Those thousands of days when we were little
were spent on memories to cherish forever.
Still hearing the days, not too far from here,
When we were just a month or so littler,
Your voice echoing in my head, you're laughing,
For the blithe rushing that is the happy of our days.
The early lights of that final morning
and that afternoon were like nothing before,
Like the lights of 1993,
The earliest lights – and brightest – of my life.
Jamie Best (for Billy) – 10:26 – 30/04/10
I spend mornings, afternoons and evenings
leant towards the lane of your memory,
Remembering the days when we were little,
Longing so much to spend those days again with you.
To run with you just one more time
across meadows of yellow-bellied greens
with tears of azure sky beneath our feet
as slippery dew on the familiar grasses.
A cycle to Nana's, Mum trailing behind,
Trafficking streets we had not known before,
To reach the places we enjoyed and loved
to amble in the humble simplicity of life.
Reaching out to touch the younger days
when we'd watch Pokémon together,
I find myself trying to catch the stars
which unfortunately are simply too far away.
I replay those naïve moments
so that I'll always know them off by heart,
So that they're always close – just a glance away,
And that when I close my eyes they will be there.
Memories of us in the infancies of Spring,
Catching bumblebees in glass jars and bottles,
Celebrating in the refreshed March air
each year of the season's turnabout.
Those better days seem sweeter than ever
when I had you to make me smile,
When we would walk to school together,
Not ashamed to say, "My brother is my best friend."
When we would climb the trees together
and play tig even though it was just the two of us,
Exhausted and tired, a sleepy two we'd be,
Letting go of the days, we'd then fall asleep
in the rooms we shared since you were born.
I think of the days when we'd wake in the early lights
of Saturday mornings to jump around,
To make a mount of cushions and climb to the top
to fall again to the carpet of our life.
To run around the rooms as Mum and Dad slept
oblivious to the mayhem we created beneath,
And to run when they wake, dawned to our play,
Their fury tended towards us two
but we shared the blame between us – as a whole.
Together we were excitement and adventure,
We discovered the world side by side,
Those thousands of days when we were little
were spent on memories to cherish forever.
Still hearing the days, not too far from here,
When we were just a month or so littler,
Your voice echoing in my head, you're laughing,
For the blithe rushing that is the happy of our days.
The early lights of that final morning
and that afternoon were like nothing before,
Like the lights of 1993,
The earliest lights – and brightest – of my life.
Jamie Best (for Billy) – 10:26 – 30/04/10
This is a poem for my brother Billy. I've written him tons of poetry in this past month but it is personal. I write them on my computer, print them out with elements of design, take them to his room, read them out so he is audience before anyone else, and then place them down. I'm going to make a box and keep them all in that; I'll be writing them until the day I die. This, however, is the first I have broadcasted, just because I joined the group LooseLacePoetry and the first theme was 'When I was Little . . .' and it was perfect. There was something strange about that.
Billy passed away last month, - 17 years old - and all I've been writing about is him. We were best friends, and I'll never shake this, (what I'm going through,) and so this poem was a chance for me to contribute to a theme and still avoid feeling disconnected to Billy. Its about the obvious. How much I miss him and want to see him again, and how I cannot pause the memories of when we were younger; recently younger or a lot younger.
I really hope people read this and give me honest feedback. It would be much appreciated.
Billy passed away last month, - 17 years old - and all I've been writing about is him. We were best friends, and I'll never shake this, (what I'm going through,) and so this poem was a chance for me to contribute to a theme and still avoid feeling disconnected to Billy. Its about the obvious. How much I miss him and want to see him again, and how I cannot pause the memories of when we were younger; recently younger or a lot younger.
I really hope people read this and give me honest feedback. It would be much appreciated.
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Comments49
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You are one of the few people to have brought me to tears with writing. This piece is... du fond du coeur. It's so honest and innocent and unbelievably heart-shattering. Memories certainly do hold power.
What gets to me the most is that this is a thing I can understand. I haven't had to experience such a thing, but my older sister is very near and dear to the heart and so very far away physically. The memories you recalled in this poem are the sort of memories I might recall if my sister were taken from me.
I think my favorite part of the poem is the last bit. "The early lights of that final morning and that afternoon were like nothing before, like the lights of 1993, the earliest lights - and brightest - of my life." In that one section, you convey so much emotion. It's a powerful phrase.
"God gave us memories that we might have roses in December." ~J.M. Barrie, Courage, 1922
What gets to me the most is that this is a thing I can understand. I haven't had to experience such a thing, but my older sister is very near and dear to the heart and so very far away physically. The memories you recalled in this poem are the sort of memories I might recall if my sister were taken from me.
I think my favorite part of the poem is the last bit. "The early lights of that final morning and that afternoon were like nothing before, like the lights of 1993, the earliest lights - and brightest - of my life." In that one section, you convey so much emotion. It's a powerful phrase.
"God gave us memories that we might have roses in December." ~J.M. Barrie, Courage, 1922