I looked for you when sleep was easy;

and dreams were indistinguishable

from waking hours; in every

chrome cafe juke box and hissing coffee machine

that poured promise of Italy; on every bus

that shed victims at the factory; and every

pair of shoes not brown.


I looked for you in tab-collar shirt

holding a pair of pliers;

in welded steel and long hours;

when the price of a meal equalled

two days without food.

I looked for you in a knock at the door

and every rear-view mirror; gaps in conversation,

and every temptation that exposed my weakness.


I looked for you after the flood;

when mud washed away the mountain,

making mockery of my map; and white

was the only colour before black.

In promises kept and apologies accepted; and

every wild flower that grew on derelict sites.

I looked for you when they announced your

name, but you never came.


I looked for you the day after the revolution

was televised; in wet cement before

it became a permanent monument

to still-life. In the rusty framework

of old industries; and every ship

that made it to shore; in the scriptures

after it was proven there is life after death.

And saw you in the last gasp of my final breathe.






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trevor homer

Wed 11th Sep 2019 15:47

Keith, have you seen the film IL Postino; a wonderful film which features a fictitious meeting between Pablo Neruda and a postman. T

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Shawn Garcia

Sat 7th Sep 2019 17:31


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keith jeffries

Sat 7th Sep 2019 13:14

Lorca and Pablo Neruda are excellent sources of inspiration.

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trevor homer

Sat 7th Sep 2019 10:08

Thanks to all who have expressed a liking for this. Whatever it means to you is testament to the poems ambiguity. What I can say is I have been reading Federico Garcia Lorca lately and found huge inspiration there. Thanks T

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Fri 6th Sep 2019 11:33

If a caged bird could speak it might express its desires for release and relief, and here's what I see in this poem Trevor. I'd say it says a lot about the environment many of us got to know in factories and the fruition of labour - since passed over for greener fields which only bring the same yearnings except now more unrealistic. There's a level of cynicism we need to survive without crashing depression - a twist to our capacity to absorb change.

I would imagine this was not an easy poem to write and every thought is real and feels it. Outstanding. The repetition of the title line reinforces the ongoing motive.


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Graham Sherwood

Thu 5th Sep 2019 21:48

Although there are six repetitions of the title one hardly notices. I had to recount them. This is a fascination search, one which the reader cannot escape from, being compelled to endure. Very good work Trevor!

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keith jeffries

Thu 5th Sep 2019 16:30


I find your style of writing in this poem intriguing. I like it as you play with the imagination of the reader who draws conclusions then feels obliged to change them. The subject of the poem fascinates me as he or she remains elusive.

Thank you for this

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