My children found a poem I had started five years ago. They were keen for me to tidy it up, so it was complete. So I’ve done that, and here it is….
I Was There. A Poem by Chris Field
It seems I was there, so the pictures declare.
Aloof among the smiles, companion through the miles.
Yet I don’t recall, being there at all.
Strange I must admit, I don’t recall a bit.
Person, place or scene, where surely I have been.
It seems that I was there, so the pictures do declare.
Unseen among the crowd, unheard by voices loud,
Standing to one side, I didn’t need to hide,
My blank, unseeing stare says I really wasn’t there.
I wonder how it went, that years of life were spent
With people all around and yet no memory found.
For truly I was there, the pictures do declare.
Unwanted and unknown, untouched by moments flown
I passed away those years, dead to hopes and fears;
Filling time and space, but never in the race.
Now what did others see when ever they saw me?
Were their eyes so blind that I never crossed their mind?
Someone should have known what the pictures now have shown.
I was there as one asleep in thoughts too dark and deep
For ever me to know how passed those years so slow.
And so I don’t recall being there at all.
Have you ever been in a daze, distracted by things that keep you from the present? Have you ever seen a photograph and not remembered the place or occasion? While that may happen to us all on rare occasions, there are some who go through all of life in such a mode. I have met folk like that, whose lives pass away with barely any consciousness on their part. “I Was There” focuses such an experience.
I have often wondered where ideas like this come from when I’m waxing poetic. I have come up with some fairly strange themes at times. I put it down to my fascination for the inner workings of the mind and heart, drawing me to reflections which may rarely be expressed. I find it fun to put into words some strange experience, imagining what it would be like to be in such a place or struggling with such thoughts.
When I first read this poem to my wife she asked me what period of my life I was talking about. I reminded her that I often write about things that are not my personal experience. So let me assure you too, that I am functioning as a poet, not as a patient on the therapist’s couch.
I trust you enjoy the evocative exploration of thought and feeling which this and other of my works venture into.