No woman is an island

entry picture

 

I can hardly speak but I will try.

My brain falls silent, still;

It is the dying of the day

When a ferment  of tenses

Lead me up many cul de sacs. 

Lingering a moonlight-figure

Mirrors the sparkling frost,

He's gone but never lost.

Suspicious of the silence within,

Outside all is wild, the colour of blood

Soaks the sky.

On a barge meandering down the river

On a bright mid-summer morn

I hear peals of girlish laughter

Echoing from the banks

Passing under metal bridges ladies

Quiver their parasols, men in top hats,

Like well-paid actors in a film about rivers,

Are over balancing and falling into the river

One after another as if this was a deliberate

Act of mass suicide. Which it is.

Bodies splash into the sweet scent

Of grass newly cut and just

Forty-two years old and gloriously confused

She removes her shoes and happily remembers

That wildfires can’t be bought or sold

So, her yearning, is born again.

 

 

 

◄ Ye Madcaps Of England

A drinking man ►

Comments

poemagraphic

Mon 21st Jan 2019 17:39

John.... Super addition old friend!

Po

poemagraphic

Mon 21st Jan 2019 08:21

Nice visually pleasing verse.

Been moon gazing this morning... Goes well with your words

Po

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