10-11-2017, 04:28 PM
101
Re: Poetry please.
InfatuationI can't believe I was taken in
By all those flirty games we'd played.
I thought he'd meant the things he'd said,
His feelings genuine and displayed.
I craved his company every day,
When he'd not arrive I was heart sore,
Then he'd be there and with spirit high,
I'd joyously greet him at the door.
Sometimes he took me out to dine,
Or to a show, bought me gifts gallore
And said he loved me, seeming sincere,
But as time passed by, I learnt the score.
The fateful last time he went back to sea,
As I saw him off on the train that day,
"It is all over!" He said to me,
I cried as he turned and walked away.
Seven years pinned on hopes and dreams,
Now was the time to start a new life,
So hard at first, but I found the strength,
When a kinder man came, I became his wife.
I still do wonder about my first love,
Where is he, what is he doing now?
How has he aged? He is older than me.
But never look back should be my vow.
Tiff
10-11-2017, 06:25 PM
105
Re: Poetry please.
LETTER TO A STRANGER.Dear Familiar Stranger,
For so you are.
I cannot see your face, or ask your name,
but I know your touch very well.
Light, firm, and impersonal.
Cool liquid. Smooth and faintly scented.
Massage; Routine; Always the same;
left foot, left leg, right foot, right leg.
I was a dancer, you know, before …
Did they tell you or can you tell?
Can you feel it in the muscles you sustain?
I was a dancer and I was good, oh, so good.
I wish you could have seen me then.
Left hand, left arm, right hand, right arm.
Arms that once held my lovers - and my
children. Lifeless now.
Where are my children? Do they still come?
I cannot tell for sure unless they speak.
People come, and sit, and look, and go.
I wish that you would speak,
I would love to hear your voice again.
Do you not realize that I can still hear?
I know you are soon to marry,
you told a nurse, yesterday, and your
voice was soft, warm with love.
I wish you every joy, I wish that you
may love and be loved all your life.
Ah, I can smell starch and masculinity,
the doctor must be here again.
Are his scrubs blue, or green
as in ‘Casualty’ or ‘’Holby City’?
Something else I will never see again,
Television. Not a great loss
but the radio, now, I do miss that.
No-one thinks to put headphones on me,
I am not supposed to be here.
Nothing hurts, or hungers, or moves.
Graphs, green and glowing, monitor
a discarded empty shell,
but, yes, I can still hear; and just
now I wish that I could not.
Click - off, click - off, click …
flat-line whines into nothingness.
So - today is the day.
Goodbye then, dear stranger,
thank you for your care.
Remember me.
© 2017
10-11-2017, 11:57 PM
109
Re: Poetry please.
Originally Posted by Silver Tabby
->
Oh dear - maybe I should not have posted it !
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