[after midnight poem ~burning woman~ ]
Welcome, midnight old friend,
Welcome back for some remembering!
Remember the romance days
Of a youth that would never end?
Sitting at a dormer window
Listening to the wind howl,
And the downpour’s battering
Under unseen November skies;
Watching sparks of rain drops
Flash past the panes reflecting
That old yellow plastic shade
Hiding its forty watt bulb?
Remember my heart’s longing
As a half-mile away the freeway
Drove its cars into the night
And valiant semis thundered past
With their multicoloured lights
And my mind went with them
As they headed east? East,
Over mountains and across valleys
Where I’d just left my lover,
My too young lover, sensing
I’d be getting that letter soon,
The one all teen lovers dread
But can never stop the mailman
From leaving in the mailbox
Even at Christmas time.
Ah. The disposable heart. The letter that could have been a conversation. Should have been a conversation. but never was. Over coffee, maybe. In a diner. It would have only taken a moment of their time…
You painted a wonderful picture. I’m sure glad the election is over. Talented people can pick up their brushes again…
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Thanks, yes… and I’m still perusing your “mousey” story. I need to gingerly reach the end, then read back up to complete the picture. Your parables/allegories are challenging to me, but I read them, oh yes!
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Lovely…so able to relate, too.
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Thank you – glad it crossed the bounds of time and the personal. An actual event recorded in my mind. Losing a lover to another, a difficult trial for the too young to be in love.
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Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.
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Thank you, MMN…
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Molto Molto bello!
Shera🌷🍀
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Grazie!
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Bonne dimanche chere amie 💚💜❤
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Merçi beaucoup, Shera, bon dimanche a toi aussi, même si il est presque fini pour toi.
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😦
dinner time in half an hour 😉
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Good heavens, you took our hearts and breathes away! Although we came late to the party, readers are advised to say this poem aloud a few times until the rhythms become apparent – it is THEN that the real magick of poetry explodes over you – and this gem of the hurricane of young love is flawless!
Ceannt for the crew
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Thanks Ceannt, happy you enjoyed it, and thanks for making me realize that it does seem to have a tempo to it. Go figger…
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My kind of poetry, Sha’Tara; enjoyed! And the image that you chose very effectively complements the verses.
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Thank you, kind sir. May your day be sweet and pleasant… and stress free!
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