Purple Robert - A Walk Down Wedgewood Lane - Spoken Word

The melting frosts on the midnight roofsHouse the cows with their mud-shorn hooves, whilstSkeletal like, the winter weeping willows sleep, andThe hickory-smoke-scented quietness sweepsThe peace of Christmas pastDown the iron-barred drains. Joggers, like slugs in the early sunlit morning,Slowly slither up[i] Mary’s hill, While the black crows still are cawingOver the brightness of the slime—Their foot-fluorescent greens, whose reflectionMarks the sun, sitting highIn the corner of my eyeBeneath the roofOf my own black felt hat, andThe collar-top lip of my‘Old man’s overcoat,’As she calls it—All bound up andTripled-scarvedAgainst the cutting wind. Meanwhile, the[ii]Tesco van of home deliveryChugs past the empty fieldsOf horse and livery,And all the still fishing pondsOf dead, Wedge, Wood—Where the empty goalposts,Now rusted white,Stand grinning like rich China men. Bone-skinned herons, blue and grey,Like sentinel-still soldiers—Guardsmen of waiting death—Are motionless, either side of thePortals of my memory,Marking this,[iii]My wedding day. Forty years on, the broken boughsOf old gnarled trees,Dead stumps, andSheared-off trunksOf the wet and waiting woodsAll bear the marks of lightning gone—Burnt out now,And cold without the fire. Halfway down the hill—A memorial bench,To Fred (who’s dead),Surrounded by flowersLeft for the ghosts to see and smell,Laid by the midnight and unseen peopleWrapped in red ribbonAs the shivering [iv]daffs Bwa their heads beside theCold memorial to poor, dead Fred.Now a corpse, decayed and vile—Yet still we’re invited to: “Please sit awhile andRemember his laugh.Consider his smile.” Memorials are for the living—Lest they forget. The dead have forgotten already. Visiting seagulls crack the surface tensionOf the icy, smoky water,Whilst the winter sardine-like slaughterOf the still mirrored-face pondsContinues on and ever on.After all—We’ve all got to eat. Leaf-empty trees,Like lungs coughed raw,Bear like hanging cancer their [v]witches’ brooms- Infesting their cold canopy floorAnd empty roomsOf February. ‘Quack-quack’Go the quickening ducksO’er the gull-grey fenceToward the empty cricket pitch—Now naked without the coversOf the bowling greens. Winter lays all the hidden ground[vi]Out—To be so clearly seen,By the bobble-hatted childrenShuffling like miceOn this socks-tucked-in-the-jeansMaudlin Monday morning… When winter leavesThe lane in WedgwoodAll fired in [vii]potter’s mourning greys, As these late and bitter days,Chase all our summer dreams Away.[i] Most joggers nowadays are women. What on earth is that all about? The pressure is on them that’s for sure. [ii] Tesco PLC is a British multinational grocery and general merchandise retailer headquartered in Welwyn Garden City, Hertfordshire, England, United Kingdom. [iii] It was February 24th and my 37th Wedding anniversary when I wrote this poem. I love my wife. Honest! Support the show🎵 The Ballad Dodecet™  - Twelve Stories. One Epic Song. - 🔥 Step Into the Ballad Universe - Where twelve stories ignite a cosmos.🌍 A World Across Six Nations- From the mist-shrouded Highlands of Scotland to the deep hollers of Appalachia, the Ballad Dodecet spans: Scotland, England, Ireland-Northern Ireland,  Wales, -North America. Each volume taps into centuries of folklore, faith, and frontier resilience—binding together diverse cultures and long-whispered legends into one unforgettable tapestry of story and song.🎼 Where Music Meets Myth - Fiction, song, and folklore collide. - Each book is laced with:🎶 Original music,📓 Hidden journals & personal letters,📚 Companion fanbooks, 🔎 Easter eggs, crossovers, and spiritual insightsWelcome to a living, breathing world—ready to read, hear, and explore.🎧 ▶ LISTEN LIVE – WLMP 660 AM- HTTPS://WWW. KINGDOM.ROCKS  Tune in to We Love Mountain Praise for exclusive ballad broadcasts, story-backed songs, devotionals, and behind-the-scenes revelations.🛒 SHOP THE BALLAD- HTTPS://WWW. DODECET.COM Support the journey. Collect the songs. Wear the legend.