Adeeyoyo's Blog

I write what I feel…


Passing Ghosts


“…just someone i used to know

when we were young…

he wouldn’t remember me…”

~ or would he?

anyhow, we’re different people now

lots of water under the bridge

lots of highs and lows (tides too)

we treated each other bad

you know, young and care-less

too shallow were we

rushing from one date to the next

looking for Mr Right

then settling for Mr Wrong

played Happy Families for a while

dad taking snapshots ~ smile ~

then off hunting for his lost youth

in short skirts…


©Denise G Allen, 21 June 2013 14:37


Melancholy Moment


We pass each other on the stairway going in

to the smoke-filled room where a lazy rhythm all its own

beats out the tempo to the sound of dancing feet

and we look away, afraid that we’d be seen

sussing out the talent in my dream…

lifetimes gone before me, is it too late to start again…

oft times we need someone more than just a friend…

oh-oh this is such a melancholy moment ~

the past is gone and buried in the dust

and the future is entirely wound up in trust…


©Denise G Allen, 19 June 2013 20:11




Time passes…

Need glasses

Recollections expand and contract

Some memories shrivel and shrink

(could drive one to drink?)

Looking through a microscope

They fall into context


Blowing up before my eyes

Black and white

Dark and light

Greys are a passing phase


Maximise or minimise

Separate the wheat from the chaff

Unsure – ignore

Crucial yesterday

Trivial today


©Denise G Allen, 14 March 2013 06:50


Busy Hands


Back in the room we were before

Where the sun remained outside the door

Eight or nine old souls are there

Each ensconced in his own chair


Eyes cast down towards the ground

Silence reigns. The only sound

The clickety clack that needles make

Soft and rhythmic, quite hypnotic


In, round, through, off

In, round, through, off

Her neighbour busy too folding a tissue fanned

And ironing it smooth with the other hand


It’s quite easy to understand

The comfort gleaned from busy hands

Years of repetition ingrained

Rituals of the past retained


With the rest of the people it’s hard to tell

Just which of them are alive and well

There’s only one who meets your eyes

Before they slide away surprised


‘Cos no one cares if they’re alive or dead

Or fast asleep, though not in bed


©DGA 15 January 2012 08:39




Memories rattle round

Like the old pots and pans

On a wandering tinker’s dray

With an enormous array

Of potions and lotions

And creams galore

Piled up high on the wooden floor

Scents and events long forgot

Bring a knot to my throat

As I drown in the gush and the rush

At last released from the heart of the past


©DGA 19 December 2011 06:29