11. Lesley Merrin
A lifelong lover of literature, regarded as the Grand Dame of Mexborough poetry .
Lesley has been enthralled by poetry from an early age, when her father, a miner, would invite his friends round on a Saturday evening to sing or recite poetry. He used to make everyone laugh by reciting monologues and loved the work of Rudyard Kipling. Self taught in many fields, Lesley’s father stressed the importance of education to Lesley and her brothers.
She has committed her thoughts to writing in many forms throughout her life, and passed on her love of poetry and English literature to the pupils who she taught during her career in Secondary Education.
Poems
A Winter Journey Whirlwind in a Storm Martha When Age Increases Autumn and Winter The Firefly Bob Down Is Dead
A Winter Journey
Dark nights, chilled bones warn us of what’s to come The ritual dying of the winter sun Where my breath kisses the glass A cage of shadowy shapes and bony trees Through a shroud of icy fog. Where frosty grass cracks underfoot Icicles pointed, sharp, a threat to life. No words are spoken but much is said I could hibernate rather than walk this sharded, icy path anxiety tagging along the stars fighting the orange light Slowly, step by painful step My footprints following me, I proceed on this ghostly pilgrimage <<<
Whirlwind in a Storm
She lay there copying sleep, yet her heart had stopped Her dark hair plaited, tumbled down her back She slept as if pricked by the spindle Waiting for the Prince’s kiss But she died in his arms as he prayed to save her. In life chaotic, a whirlwind in a storm in death peaceful, a delicate beauty, flowers dislodged from the hair that she had arranged so carefully. Brown eyes open, insensible, proved the lie. Death’s dateless dawn. Her bereaved mother, lips quivering unnaturally. Crouched over her as she lay with the handsome stranger there to protect her Failed His heart poured out anguish as he held her, bereft. The unknown girl murdered by her own. Collateral damage, they would say Innocence pervaded the air the loneliest of souls crossed paths Mother and soldier Evil must be endured by the living No words spoken - nothing to say The mother turned, to stumble home followed by the soldier carrying her precious girl. To show her gratitude she cut a lock from the girl’s plait and gave it to him. He carried it through the war, knowing that once they had breathed the same air. <<<
Martha
The malevolent mist descends Descends on the moonless night Descends and thickens On the drunken, destitute prostitutes Looking for their prey, before they become prey themselves. The unnamed mercurial man The insidious night walker who puts fear into the hearts of women Searching. Disappearing into the dark shadows, Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Loitering, fantasising. Seeking his chance. Martha looking for a man Footsteps heard in the distance She hopes this is the sign of a few pence to buy her a bed for the night or a few more gins, so she can forget. Martha His first victim, in her new bonnet. The evil one. Seizing his opportunity, In his rage, his frenzied attack, thirty nine times the knife met its target. Martha’s blood splattered over his hands, over his clothes, over his shoes Martha’s blood congealed when they found her, Her new bonnet that she was so proud of crushed and battered The year is 1888, Victoria’s reign, Four more victims fell at his murderous hands Undetected still <<<
When Age Increases
When age increases beauty oft declines Eyes, lifeless no longer shine the same This shift in outer grace the heart resigns As summer leaves as swiftly as it came You have had your time in the sun, rejoice before the closing of the day as winter nears <<<
Autumn and Winter
Walk precariously down Old Guy’s Road Stumble on the silken spider’s skein, shiny with dew A curled, dead spider hangs by a thread Scattered Seeds now lay infertile, spent- No longer waiting to burst and spread to bring new life Haunting thoughts that autumn is now upon us With winter wading in Waiting to infiltrate our lives – or deaths Everyone is destined to travel West There is no escape. Yet, the monkey puzzle tree continues to extend Its arms in ecstasy towards the sunset sky. Ever grateful for the days yet come. <<<
The Firefly
Arriving home in the dead of winter to the sanctuary with snow melting on your clothes, your icy hands aching your nose bright red, your eyes stinging you long for the security and the warmth of home for the smouldering reddened fire sputtering out coal and wood toasting fork resting on the hearth waiting for someone to take up the challenge you must fight for a place near the fireplace all the family sitting there with mottled legs no one wants to submit themselves to the cold you hover, like a firefly until someone surrenders their place to you <<<
Bob Down is Dead
Robert Downing died this Tuesday lunch, In a coma for six months, tis a shame, a shame life will never be the same, From Gretna Green he hailed, his career like a rising star, it never failed. He became an icon early on, in Corrie as Minnie’s brother’s son. Ena thought not much of him Or his pseudonym, Archie Carbuncle was his name His fall left him lame Ena didn’t take fools gladly his mum didn’t know his dad, quite sadly, he could be one of several She seemed to think his name was Neville. He killed Annie’s beloved cat It made a massive splat When he dropped it off the Rovers’ roof But Ena could find no real proof. Bob Down as he was known, went on to better things He went to live in Colorado Springs In many seventy films he appeared He became a recluse and grew a great ginger beard. RIP Bob Down <<<
Lesley, hello it's Sue Brown, you are a wonderful poet. I used to be in the art group in Mexborough.You used to attend. Tried to phone Janet. Her number has been discontinued. Is she OK. Do you still do Tuesday art group. I was put on waiting on waiting list. No response. Are you well? You certainly are a brilliant poet, should print a book! My E mail is buttonsibows21@gmail.com. Cheers Sue Brown