• Joanna Seldon

  • Conker

    When I feel the conker in my pocket

    I remember him.  My fingers close round

    Its smooth solidity.  It was autumn

    Then, a different autumn, but like this

    One ripe with golden sunshine and its gifts.


    Summer has hardened and packed tight inside

    This dense, warm little parcel of the year.

    And warmer still it grows in my pocket

    As I fondle and turn it in the dark,

    The dark resting place of my coat pocket.


    So is a good life packed full of doing

    That may grow warm with others, even when

    The many years have turned, and darkness filled

    Places where memory shone bright and strong.

    I feel the conker and feel he is here.