ELUSIONS (2)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
poem from the not so distant archives.

Submitted: March 24, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 24, 2012

A A A

A A A


Scattered throughout the book

like absent minded after thoughts

were the gems

  • poems

on the very last page

  • her poem

entrancing me

with ease of expression/emotion

“candid camera” snapshots

saying so much, so simply

I could have written it myself

not knowing

I had

*

I savoured every nuance of meaning

whilst reading

  • the poem

now a blur

the subject eludes me

though I picture the page

on which it was written

with startling illustration

of green embossed leaves

stretching up

to reach

  • the poem

dangling down

to almost dip

into the galleon of leaves

*

I yearned to read more from her

asked the girl at the market book stall

for collections of poems

by my new favourite author

I have none, said the girl

but I do have this other

rather difficult collection

she looked at me

you probably won’t be interested

I do difficult, I replied

difficult can be compelling

compelling can be enlightening

*smugly*

I write poetry

I thumbed through her offering

very literary, obtuse even

a few stanzas showed promise, decipherable

I thought I might enjoy the challenge

bought the difficult book

*

realised I was not alone

there was a child with me

  • my child

let’s go and see the sea

I said to him

before we go home

*

the sea was just around the corner

from the book stall

though the entrance was glassed off

you could see the smooth waves

but not reach them

(it didn’t occur to me

to walk further

to find another corner

without the barrier)

I gazed in awe and longing

electric lime and icy blue

wild/calm/beautiful/bright

hot and cold abstraction

sea, sky and sun

teasing me with tingling promise

after some moments

I noticed it riddled

with ivy leaf-shaped seaweed

*smug* again (momentarily)

not a day for swimming...

instead of detracting me from

my want

it became doubly enticing

to squeeze through the glass

and touch

feel

*

my child,

  • my poems

(and I)

turned away

headed back

to wherever home was

 

 


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