The Painting with the smudge

I remember her detail,

How she looked, how she talked to her husband,
I just stood on the pavement and cried, I’ll

Never see her again, not here,
That’s it.

Whatever came, came for a moment and then left, we were
Going to live forever.

I don’t get in touch with anyone anymore,
It scares me, the

Vast leap of events between the last meeting twenty years ago, and the ‘hello’ now,
Like a slug or snail whose antenne has grazed something unpalatable;

I’ve withdrawn.

I don’t mean to do it I don’t mean to have this strange mist shroud me, I
Feel tenuous –

Like a smudge in the corner of a pristine painting you could reach out to touch me and find,

Nothing there left at all.

Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep. Rom. 12:15

♦Photo – Personal♦

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on April 9, 2017 at 10:59  Leave a Comment  
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Morning Come

1819274www.webstockpro.com

Your thoughts are on pink.

Pink elephants with floppy ears,
Pink polcadot pillows,

Pink rabbit-eared flip-flops with,
Non-slip soles,
Pink cereal,
Pink hair bobbins, and
The bright pink coffee shop,
You would take her to,
To apologise and review,
Her new pink shoes.

Why must everything be so loud?

Bedraggled mops slop over,
Tired hospital tiles,
The mobile phone on the bed-side table,
Won’t stop vibrating and the,
Bed-springs squeal,
Each time you move.

The smell of antiseptic will not overcome,
The stench of sweat on soiled sheets nor,
Iron in new blood,

Hush,

Nine months of nausea,
Nine months of chocolate,
Will come your way again,

Hush.

Morning come,
Morning come.

Published in: on June 21, 2015 at 17:25  Leave a Comment  
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Card Trick

life, cancer, poker, gambling, memories,
Dance music,
Damp heat and talk

Drifts to halcyon days of,
Seventies groove and Afro’s ruffled,

In the political funk of,
Freedom fighters and platform shoes,

Cadillac language,
Smooth and languid,

Dripping off honey colored lips like,
Melting chocolate…

It’s a card trick,
And we are mesmorised by,

Furtive glances,
Over fanned cards,

Fascinated by the sleight of hand,
And the afternoon light,

Our soft voices and loud giggles,
Caught in a trick of time,

Heavy with love and breakfast.

-evocative short poetry-

Published in: on June 21, 2015 at 17:19  Leave a Comment  
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I wish we had played on all night

image

I wish we had played on all night,
African cowboys with not much,
Else to do,

I wish we had challenged the fish in the sea and,
Called out to the Bison,

My father and his band,
And his

-strike while the iron is hot-

Jive,

Johnstone, his brother,
On the drums,
Kicking up a riot,

Sarah the lead,
Crooning about her rescue from a,
Very bad man,

Lydia,
Lead back-up,

Flinging in the,
‘Alleluiahs’, and
‘Godda-let-it-be’s!

Samuel,
A doctor dying of AIDS,
Breathing life into a tin-metal harmonica,

‘Alleluhia,’

Rocking the old man at the end of the bar,
And the couple at the table, fighting with their lips,

I think heard it coming when he fumbled the line,
And I wish we had played on all night.

Published in: on June 21, 2015 at 16:23  Leave a Comment  
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