Reflections

By Alan Noakes

Reflections is a compilation of poems, both introspective and retrospective, presenting a rich tapestry of personally intimate, spiritual, and worldly issues, across a broad spectrum of environmental, political, and social themes, which mirror the deep concerns and topics of today’s virulent social fabric. Grappling with the themes of the aged, death, loneliness, and the perpetual human quest for answers, they nevertheless maintain an underlying spark of ‘hope and faith’ for the continuance of human existence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398409651

Alan Noakes

Alan Noakes was born in Brighton in 1951 and was educated in the regular state school system until he was fifteen. Later in life, he acquired a BA honours degree via the Open University in Milton Keynes and his ALA. Amidst a varying career, he became one of the few male children’s librarians in the 1980s. He has previously written work for Books for Keeps and worked as a reviewer for many publishers in the children’s book world. He writes passionately, touching on many, still contemporary, themes, much of which is autobiographical that is reflected in his previously published book of poems, Feelings and Fate – A Legacy. These themes continue in his second anthology, Reflections.

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About the Author

Alan Noakes was born in Brighton in 1951 and was educated in the regular state school system until he was fifteen. Later in life, he acquired a BA honours degree via the Open University in Milton Keynes and his ALA. Amidst a varying career, he became one of the few male children’s librarians in the 1980s.

He has previously written work for Books for Keeps and worked as a reviewer for many publishers in the children’s book world. He writes passionately, touching on many, still contemporary, themes, much of which is autobiographical that is reflected in his previously published book of poems, Feelings and Fate – A Legacy. These themes continue in his second anthology, Reflections.

Dedication

For Eleanor, my daughter.

Copyright Information ©

Alan Noakes 2023

The right of Alan Noakes to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398409644 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398409651 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Why Oh Why?

Why oh why

asked me my son

as he began to cry,

why did he fire his gun?

Why oh why

asked me my son

as he took my hand to run,

why so many had to die?

I knelt to look him the eye

but had nothing to reply.

Why oh why

asked me my son

as he began to shiver,

why am I cold like the river?

I held him, felt him close,

in my throat,

a scream arose.

Why oh why

asked me my son

as in my arms he lie,

is it now my turn to die?

Tears rained down my face

as his blood left its trace.

Why oh why?

I looked to the sky,

feeling his life ebb away.

Why oh why

asked me my son,

I kissed his cold young face,

asked for God’s grace,

his last breath a soft sigh,

a kiss in a final goodbye.

Why oh why

asked me my son,

why oh why

as I let his soul fly.

Streets of Pain

I walked the streets of pain

still glittering from the rain,

children everywhere crying

for food,

mothers were vying,

stealing scraps and

hunting rats.

All the men gone to war

like predatory carnivores.

Left behind

in the streets of pain,

mothers wailing for the dead

senselessly slain.

Fatherless children

whose

childhood is quickly shed,

finding solace

not in a mosque

but with a Kalashnikov.

In the streets of pain

amidst the rubble,

families gather water

from rain puddles.

Bonded in grief, they huddle

amongst

ravaged bodies from landmines

perforated like porcupines.

Destruction and desolation,

man’s endless gift

of human castration.

Thirty years or more,

just incessant war,

the shouts for peace

unheard,

as the guns never cease.

In the streets of pain,

children hope for an end

to a war

they do not comprehend.

Peacemakers come and go,

words and memos flow

from Washington

to Moscow,

but peace is a no-show.

Women implore the men to stay,

to remain aloof from the fray.

Hopes are dashed

when the walls crash.

War is waged

till their bloodlust

is assuaged.

War waged by men

without end.

My Attic

My head is an attic

filled with the dramatic,

of love’s sorrows

bored through

with poisoned arrows.

Memories

of one-night stands

that no one understands.

Heartbreaks

of passions rejected,

diligently dissected.

Ghosts

carefully folded

in boxes moulded

cast aside,

in shadows

forever shrouded.

Recollections

stored as loving

souvenirs.

But the bones

of the passed

remain

in casts of glass.

My attic is full

of colourful images,

families and lovers.

Suppressed jealousies,

vanquished fears,

fallen tears,

kept in bubbles.

My head is an attic,

screaming emphatic

release, release!

Refusing

to be at peace.

Yet,

my attic,

my private place,

my life,

hoarded away.

Kept safely at bay

within the realms

of mind’s subspace,

never to let loose

without

turning insane.

Love’s Pain

Her head full of dreams

Her heart a beating machine

Her life’s future to explore

In a book store.

Falling in love

As in romances read

Idyllic days ahead

Under blue heavens above.

Wedding day long past

The idyll did not last

The change a bomb blast

Demons came en-masse.

His demeanour to abhor

Beaten, treated as a

Whore

Chained to the floor.

No refuge to be found

It seemed,

forever bound.

No escape,

Only a duty to placate.

Her head,

Empty of dreams

Her heart,

Desolate chasms

Her life,

No future to explore

Not even

In a book store.

Reflecting

It is so late at night

Sitting under a dim light

Outside the darkest of nights.

The page before me blank

Rounded shoulder sank.

A torrent of flooding thought

Ending in a mental drought.

Fear being all that remains

Binding me in chains.

I recall journeys made,

Distant lands, mesmerised,

That never fade.

Eyes alight

Like a sparkling Chablis,

Sunny smiles

Remembering gay Paris.

Dawn walks

Upon a sandy Greek shore,

Calmed inside

Like a happy end folklore.

Laughing

Like a clown on skis, free,

Gliding snowy slopes

Like a wild, wild banshee.

Now I journey no more,

Only fantasies

Allow my mind to fly

From shore to shore.

The light of day brings hope,

The night vivid magical dreams

Unending