The mother sings a lullaby
to her child, the soft realisation it is
to her.
Sitting by the cradle’s side,
she silently condemns
the war looming large
on the open heath,
Assuring her of the
futility of
the insurance.
The hollow eyes
of the agent
sitting in the drawing room,
drawing the bond,
is a vicious pause
in her lifetime.
Scratching,
Crying,
Cogitating,
“May I take a poetic adieu?”
were her words.
Why don’t you call me?
Home, where the heart never wanders, I will play a Jim Reeves number and recapitulate old moments
in a new ambience. The you
will be replaced by her. The song will remain the same,
about getting ditched. It’s
quite universal isn’t it?
Times and moments may change, but ditching remains —
perennial art.
They’re there most mornings, front page,
Newsfeed’s lead story, in these pictures
Their heads are usually covered, this is
The Middle East, this is war, this is disaster,
This is their lives; they embrace in a group,
Hold one woman back, arms outstretched
To a body on the ground, sometimes just
Out of reach for the camera, for the woman,
For the women weeping; these are mothers,
These are wives, sisters, friends; this is what
They do, this is what they have done for so long
The story seems old, seems ancient, continues on,
Tomorrow’s front page, newsfeed; the reporter
Looks on, shakes his head, and says get that shot
To his cameraman; they, the women, their story,
Their picture summarize so much.
A wide mouth brimming
wants to swallow all
Grief, time, contemplation
A hunger that will not rest
at bay grinds its molars.
A tale
untold unheard
an advertisement
washed white
a full story
after the delete key
a mouth
open
trying to form
words.
Sad sagging
Humbert met
me by the pool
I’ve made a spicy
novel
of my life,
he moaned
now he sits
all day
with gin and tonic
with might have
been.
Noah, you lived
in the wrong time,
died too quickly, looked
at your world
with different eyes,
taught me the value
of getting to know
a person, even if
I disagreed with them.
Yes, there’s not much
planning here, this dry
land of busted up dreams,
just swinging by the edge
of an old promise
like kids on a tire swing
at the old house.
They kissed for luck
as a shooting star
flung itself across the sky, then he let her walk away, and when she
left
all the stars went with her.
More at http://tamsengrace.com.
My love once said I was
clever, but I could not
solve the simplest puzzle,
she called me intelligent
but I could not read her face,
she called me strong,
but now I am weak
in an empty room.