Basil Thorne

Cornwall, UK

I was born in Swindon on November 8th 1913. I am now retired. My wife Joan and myself live in Hayle, Cornwall in a beautiful spot by the harbour's estuary. I have a son who lives with his wife and two sons in South Africa. I was in the Armed Forces as part of REME before retiring as WO1. I then joined the Civil Service as officer in charge of Technical Services. I am now a fully retired Major. I started to write poems in 1972 after attending a spiritual service with my wife. The medium gave me a message saying that "Spirit friends wanted me to write". As a young lad I used to write verse, but most of my friends laughed at me, so that was the end of that. Following the Medium's message, I began sitting quietly early in the mornings and then wrote my first, "Imagination". I continued to write poems from then on until I unfortunately lost the power to write.

Memories

Golden days are days of yore,
Happy days in thoughts we store,
Memories of these times we had,
Looking under rocks for crabs,
Riding donkeys, digging holes.
Making castles, oh! so bold.

Splashing in the sea, so bright,
Dad with sunburn, what a sight,
Rock and ice-cream we would eat,
Basking in the glorious heat,
Tired and hungry when at eve,
Back to hotel, we would weave.

Having eaten, off to bed,
Oh! so tired, our prayer's were said,
Dreaming of another day,
In that sunny golden bay,
Aren't we lucky now we're old,
Having memories to unfold.

Happiness, in so many ways,
Oh! those lovely Golden Days.

The Garden

Sitting alone on a summer eve,
In a garden, with a cooling breeze,
The sun going down in a golden glow,
The sound of machines in the fields as they mow,
One smells the flowers and the new cut grass
The birds in the air, as to roost they pass.

Like messengers from some far-off land,
Oh life feels good, in fact its grand,
The flowers with their nodding heads,
Will soon be asleep in well kept beds,
The dew it will be falling soon,
And up will come the harvest moon.

All will be still, as still as the night,
As the garden glows in the moons bright light,
How calm and silent it all seems,
As one looks through, the moonlight beams,
But now there comes the evening chill,
And leaning on the window sill.

One shivers and decides its time,
To go indoors, the stairs to climb,
And gaze from window at the sight.
Of Earth retiring for the night.