That August
We were Spanish dancers,
lonely lovely paintings, colours
smashed across the bar like it was the sky,
our limitless mirror a dirty glass, we locked
hand-in-hand down the dry streets
kicking dust for joy.
Lies left forgotten by our sides,
memories out of our heads,
was this summer real, or as close as we could get?
Hand to head ,to neck, cool white cotton sheets,
happy didn’t even come close to those big stars above.
I loved you more.
Morning was the serenade
Hot Monday mourning,
singing up to the birds silent in the grip of trees-
what a movie this would make!
Who wouldn’t know the reality from this dream
all silver and chains, promises linked, broken,
a scene of right place, wrong time.
But this was not the movies ,how could I say’ I love you’
or anyone, without the streets teeming in rain,
or the tears about to fall ?
We were Spanish dancers,
lonely lovely paintings, colours
smashed across the bar like it was the sky,
our limitless mirror a dirty glass, we locked
hand-in-hand down the dry streets
kicking dust for joy.
Lies left forgotten by our sides,
memories out of our heads,
was this summer real, or as close as we could get?
Hand to head ,to neck, cool white cotton sheets,
happy didn’t even come close to those big stars above.
I loved you more.
Morning was the serenade
Hot Monday mourning,
singing up to the birds silent in the grip of trees-
what a movie this would make!
Who wouldn’t know the reality from this dream
all silver and chains, promises linked, broken,
a scene of right place, wrong time.
But this was not the movies ,how could I say’ I love you’
or anyone, without the streets teeming in rain,
or the tears about to fall ?
12 comments:
What a gorgeous August. Love the pic, as well!!
These transports in being or in waving goodbye?
I liked the poem, attempts at grasping past happiness turn it into a kind of phantom, impossible to apprehend -I think, I like that conflict revealed through your words, the painful nostalgia (well, maybe I´m wrong, I don´t know...)
guts..... millions of guts.... you have them and this poem hits them.... stunned!
"We were Spanish dancers,
lonely lovely paintings, colours
smashed across the bar like it was the sky,
our limitless mirror a dirty glass, we locked
hand-in-hand down the dry streets
kicking dust for joy"
just beautiful....
Another gem from 'TFE'! I love your choice of juxtapositions: joy/lies,
morning/mourning, singing/silent, linked/broken.
Yes, this is how we can remember those lovely summer romances of the past, through spectacles of wisdom.
Would you have thought that back then, when you were dying inside from that pain, that you'd be writing such a lovely poem in the future?
Thanks Willow,pity this August wasn't so interesting!
That's a good question ArtSparker,I think :)
Thanks ,aleph. And thanks for your thoughts.That is one of the few good things about poetry; that the reader can often see better than the writer.
I do have plenty of guts Watercats but I'm hoping to go on a diet.
And thanks for your kind compliment, glad you liked those lines. :)
Beautifully done--one of your very best.
Tanx, John!
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