Poetry Blog by John E Marks (2012)

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  Quietly, she spoke of tea, toast, the after smell of cigars,
Let us say we met in a room: curtained, peeling, private.
Briefly she consulted the winter afternoon,
Reviewed the deadening, leadening sky.

It was discreetly done.
No presences danced beyond no lifted curtains.
Darkness had silted us away.

Words, like spoons, stirred the air,

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Curlews cry, an Aegean sky: a boat
lifts and falls. The heat of noon, a lethargic
gloom, she's tracked with light this star-struck night.

Moon-shadows cast, it's cool at last, this sweep
and swell, this road to hell. The ship's becalmed
with false alarms, this attic night of bone-white light:
no palimpest, no Grecian zest.

A sapphic wind balloons the moon, fans the fog's

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I used to carry three of the five up to bed

They’d say ‘Daddy, daddy, please stay’

But I would go away and work.


Suddenly we were semi-detached

They’d flown the nest, gone way,

And what I wouldn’t give

For one day with them

When they were little and I was young.


Telling them stories, singing songs,

Getting along.

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