My Santiago

A quiet nook of Beauty 08/04/2018

Sometimes In moments of reverie, I wonder just why When and how, Lexicon grew on me, Like a second skin?

Why the reverberation of voluptuous words, Sensuous sibilants, Onomatopoeia juxtaposed with cadence and carefree syllabic structure, Transports me to a quiet nook of beauty. Was it the endless afternoons spent in the crook of our tree, Immersed in the adventures of white male middle class (and often racist), English schoolboys and fighter pilots? Or was it my fifth form English teacher, Tall, bespectacled, Immaculate in starched white suits,

Hair oiled and combed back, Gently rocking back and forth Along the narrow walkways between our metal framed seats, With Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice” Held in front of his face, As we took turns to read from our books?

I remember him well And thank him for secrets passed to me, Even though I was too young to know.

The love of books, of heroes and heroines, Of stories, Life and love and strife and pain!

Never quite knew how he did it, Or what he did, But there must have been a plan?

Because, I love words!

Stories transport me, And poetry, with its dense meaning and sound, Capture moments of a life or a time, Bringing clarity to my own.