My Wordly Wealth

Heather Williamson

Poetry on roots, love, life and faith

Tag: memory

  • Advent calendar

    When I was a child, I recall that among the Christmas decorations, there was an advent calendar that came out every year. I loved it. Not only did I look forward to Christmas, but I remembered all the happy Christmases that had gone before…. The best advent calendars don’t have chocolates in them.The cardboard nativity… Read.

  • London Pride

    Since I am stuck at home with a chest infection, I thought I’d post some more poems. And whilst I’m at it, I wanted to say that very soon I should be able to share details of my first poetry collection. Any week now….. As today is about remembering those who have gone before, this… Read.

  • At my most childlike

    I am at my most childlikeat the onset of autumn.The first crisp morning brings goosebumpscaused not by cold airbut by anticipation.I hunt through cupboards for jumpers, boots and scarves – packed away hurriedly in the search for flip-flops and sandalsjust a few months ago – but now drawn out and greeted againas old friends.The air… Read.

  • Navenby

    Our lovely first home together. Too small for a growing family, and in need of many renovations, but dearly loved and remembered. I think the many dreams and the continued longing come from the fact that we had to move away – and that it was with a brand new baby. Rather traumatic perhaps, but… Read.

  • Read us again

    Is it escapismto take down from the shelf againthat old classic that you love – turning the dog-eared pages with that familiar anticipation?Is it merely comfort-seeking to watchtime after timethe film that is so brim-full of lovelinessthat you weep againand something in you is healed for a moment?I think it is a wish for the… Read.

  • When I sleep

    Why, when I sleep, do I returnLike a wound never healedTo a home I used to know?I walk the roomsAnd pick up trinketsNow covered in dustThat were once precious to meI stuff my pockets with themThinking “I am so gladI got to come backOne more time – To take away the treasure That meant so… Read.

  • Let go

    Is this my seaside?The name is rightThe pier stretches out stillBut no-one walks along itThe fairground closed and quietThe endless reaches of sandNow taken by grassNot to be walked onIs this my seaside?I think it wasThe Victorian shop frontsStill standBut not thronged todayBy holiday makersPerhaps it is the rainPerhaps we weren’t to blameWe didn’t let… Read.

  • I took my scalpel to a poem

    I asked myself one day what made a poem a poem. I might have done better to ask other people, obviously, because it turns out I don’t know!! I decided it might well be a mystery, and also rather subjective – a bit like asking “What is worthy of being called art?” I took my… Read.

  • Past Perfect

    It is in the bones of meThis placeThe great flat And the open skyThe twist of a lane To my homeThe stone walls of my cottageI loved this place thenButI had already lovedThis place beforeIn the daysWhen everything existedIn my mindSo much largerThan realityWhen snowdriftsStill closed schoolsAnd I was safe in my parents’ loveAnd the… Read.

  • Something Like Perfection

    This is where i explain things a little further I suppose. I had the flu jab a while back and it made me ill. (They always say it won’t!!) So stuck in my house I looked for something to watch on ITVX and I stumbled across A Fine Romance, with Judi Dench and her late… Read.

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