En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Church Sitting

You sat with Jane
in her father's church
the bright morning sun

piercing high windows
pushing colours on flagstone floors
the silence caressed you

her nearness warmed
her ankle socks and sandals
had an innocence of strawberries

her flowered summer dress
rode up to her thighs as she sat
her hands resting on her knees

can you feel that breeze?
she said
cooling isn't it

you sensed it as she spoke
yes I can
you replied

your eyes moved along her thighs
then lifted to her face
as partial sunlight

seemed to show
grace there on skin
and dark black hair

and you watched her lips move
as she spoke and said
I was christened here

and maybe I'll be wed here too
to whom?
you asked

and she looked at you
a thirteen year old boy
then looked away

some birdsong from outside
had caught her ear
and she turned her head

and you gazed
at her neck and jaw
and saw her beauty

in a way you had not before
sunlight catching her
as it had coloured patterns

on flagstone floor
you wanted to reach
and touch her arm

her skin and sense
her pulse of life
that pumped within.

poem by Terry Collett
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One Afternnon that Summer.

Despite the fact
that other local kids

were in the hay barn playing
Jane stood at the barn doors

looking in apprehensively
and you stood beside her

waiting for her to move in
or say something

but she just stood looking in
are we allowed in to play?

she asked
sure as long as we don't

cause damage to the hay bales
you replied

and she sniffed the air
and moved in

and looked around
the huge barn

with its semi dark
and smells of hay

and captured sun
and warmth

the other kids played
but took no notice

of Jane or you
as you entered

closed the doors
and moved around

the hay strewn floor
haven't you been

in a hay barn before?
you asked looking

at her bright summer dress
and white socks and sandals

yes years ago
she said

as she paused
at the edge

of the nearest hay bale
and sat down

and you sat beside her
in the semi dark

with sunlight making
small light through cracks

and holes in the walls
I don't like mice and rats

she said
and I saw one once

in another barn
and it frightened me

you sat in silence
for a few moments

taking in the air and smells
and then the other kids

ran off out side
into the sunlight

talking of playing
down by the pond

and catching things
you sat still

until their voices died off
and then she said

why have you
brought me in here?

you looked at her eyes
in the dull light

and her lips moving
with their small speech

to be alone with you
without prying eyes

you said
oh I see

she replied
and stood up

and climbed upwards
on the hay bales

with you following
behind her

seeing her sway
as she moved

her hands pulling
her upwards

her legs taking each step
onto a hay bale carefully

then having reach
high up in the barn

she sat down
and you sat beside her

if my father saw me here
he'd think things

Jane said
and she looked at you

with her large eyes
what things? you asked

watching her lay back
with her hands

behind her head
I don't know

he never said
she muttered

as she lay there
she lifted a leg

and her dress
slipped downwards

revealing a glimpse
of naked thigh

that's parents for you
you uttered

never saying
what they think

or saying things
but don't explain

you lay down
beside her

on the hay
as outside the barn

the soft sound
of pitter patter

on the roof
of sudden rain.

poem by Terry Collett
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Matter Of Beauty

That's Speedwell
and that's Red Sorrel

Jane said
pointing out

the wildflowers
as you both walked

down the lane
that led to the empty cottage

with apples trees
in the garden

and gooseberry bushes
in fruit by hedges

They all look the same to me
you said

Just flowers growing
she shook her head

and smiled and said
You townies

do you know nothing
of nature's beauty?

I'm looking at beauty now
you replied

and as you both walked on
down the lane

she in her summery dress
and you in your

open neck shirt
and faded jeans

you felt the morning sun
touching your head

like a fond mother
and the smell of flowers

and sound of birds
and she said

after a minute
or so of silence

Father says beauty
is only skin deep

real beauty lies
in a person's soul

if that soul is not blemished
by sin that is

and you looked at her
hand by her side

swinging as she walked
and the fingers curled

as if she held
something invisible

yet ready to throw
and you took in

her white ankle socks
above her brown sandals

and the calves of her legs
and her thighs

just showing
as the dress moved

and you breathed in deep
like one immersed

in water about to drown
of love or the feeling of such

and you said
I guess he's right

but I love the beauty
of skin pretty much

and she laughed
and her laughter

shooed off birds
from the tree tops around

who probably never heard
such a beautiful sound.

poem by Terry Collett
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Jane and You and the Gatekeeper

You sat with Jane
on the grass
in the field
beneath the Downs

she was looking
at the sky
and you
were watching her

her profile
her hair pulled back
in a ponytail
her eyes bright

as new coins
her pale blue dress
and white ankle socks
and brown sandals

she followed a butterfly
fluttering by
a Gatekeeper
she said

where?
you said
there that butterfly
it's called a Gatekeeper

you turned to watch
the butterfly
she had pointed to
as it fluttered off

down the field
stopping now and then
to land on flowers
I love butterflies

she said
how do you know
all their names?
you asked

I read Daddy's books
he has a number of books
on butterflies and moths
she said

she lay back
on the grass
and stared
at the sky

you lay down
beside her
your hands
behind your head

she smelt of lavender
you noticed
you breathed it in
let it fill within you

don't you read books?
she asked
turning to look at you
taking in your white shirt

and blue jeans
I'm reading a book on birds
you said
I bought it in town

the other week
that's a start
she said smiling
I guess so

you said
I didn't realize
there were so many kinds
she studied you

as you spoke
resting her head
on her hand
maybe we can go looking

for nests next year
when they begin
to nest again
she said

ok
you said
not to touch though
she said

just to look
birds don't like
their nests disturbed
in London

we only have sparrows
and pigeons
you said
how boring

she said
you watched
her lips moving
as she spoke

her eyes on you
studying you
I'm glad you're here
you said

glad to be here
she replied
she touched her fingers
to her lips

and blew you a kiss
and you did likewise
seeing a new world
in her deep dark eyes.

poem by Terry Collett
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That Summer That Love

The summer sun
warmed you and Jane

as you made your way
up the dried up

muddy track
towards the Downs

the sunlight
pouring through

the branches of trees
overhead

you thinking
of your work

on the farm below
the day before

the weighing of the milk
the clearing out

of cowsheds
and the cowman saying

what do you want to do
when you leave school?

to be a cowman
you replied

you want to get yourself
a proper job

you don't want to do this
for a living

and Jane said
breaking you

from your thoughts
I want to show you

where I used to sit on the Downs
and where I used to collect

bones and skeletons of rabbits
and moles and birds

and you turned
and looked at her

as she walked beside you
her hands swinging

as she walked
her black hair tied

in a small bun
at the back

and her yellowy flowered dress
capturing your eyes

my father works in the woods
further along

you said
he works in the ditches

and hedgerows too
she bent down

and plucked a flower
that's Squinancywort

she said
showing you the flower

as she twirled it
between fingers

she offered it to you to smell
lovely isn't it?

you nodded
and carried the scent

with you as you both
moved on up the track

she turned to you and said
your dad does well

at his work for a townie
and you smiled

and so did she
and you captured

her lips parting
and her bright white teeth

and her eyes
moving over you

like a soft caress
and she whispered

turning her head away
do you love me?

and you whispered
yes.

poem by Terry Collett
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One Summer 1958

You sat with Fay that summer day
on the flat concrete roof
of the World War Two bomb shelter

down below the tall flats
where you both lived
and you said

do you want to go
to the movies with me?
she looked across

at the coal depot
with its trucks loading
and unloading

I don't have no money
she replied
you looked at her

my dad'll pay
you said
he's always giving me money

for the movies
she shook her head
and you looked ahead

at the sun shining above
the rain tracks
over the coal depot

you had on your blue jeans
and white tee shirt
and she you noticed

turning your head
had a red and white dress
which came just over her knees

and she wore sandals
on bare feet
besides my mother wants me

so she can see me
Fay said with a sigh
she raised and lowered

her legs against
the concrete wall
her sandals making

tapping noises
as they hit the wall
and you noticed bruises

along her thigh
as she moved
and her dress rode higher

what are those bruises
on your leg?
you asked

she looked down
and stopped moving her legs
and pulled her dress hem

over her knees and thighs
I fell
she replied

down the stairs
you looked at her arms
where other fading bruises

blended into her skin
like worn-out badges
we can see a Western film

you said
I'm sure
there's a Jeff Chandler film

so my dad tells me
but she shook her head
too violent

Mother says
Fay uttered looking away
but there's kissing stuff too

you added
Fay looked at you
her blue eyes

moving over you
like a smoothing
palm of a hand

I'm not allowed
to go to the movies
Daddy says

its sinful and only
wicked people
go there

to be tempted
by the Devil
she sighed

and you both sat in silence
for a while
watching pigeons fly

in the blue summer sky
then she turned quickly
and kissed your cheek

and said
don't have to go
to no movie

to see kissing
and you thought
of the boring bits in films

where the cowboy
gets kissed by the girl
after a gun shoot out

and having been kissed
by Fay
you were glad

and guessed that kissing
wasn't at all
too bad.

poem by Terry Collett
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Branded By Hot Lips

Christina sat crossed legged
on the grass of the school playing field

her friends got up and left
as you arrived after school lunch

where's your friend Rolland?
she asked

gone off with Woolgar
to play football

you replied
she patted the grass

beside her
why don't you sit down?

she said
so you sat down beside her

looking at her dark brown hair
brushed so so

and her green summer dress
just covering her knees

the black shoes
and white ankle socks

completing the picture
as if your eyes

had mentally painted her
for later reference

she leaned forward
and kissed your forehead

a damp patched
the size of her lips

remained there
she said

something to remind you
of me afterwards

while you're sitting
in class doing boring history

or geography or whatever
thanks

you said
actually it's maths

which is even more boring
so the kiss memento

will come in handy
she laughed and looked away

you spotted Rolland
over the way

standing in a goal
between two coats

Cedric can see us out here
she said

breaking the brief silence
why does it matter

if your brother can see us?
Will he tell your parents?

she shrugged her shoulders
don't suspect so

she said
you gazed at her lips

as she spoke
and her hands on her knees

just laying there
palms down

he does watch us though
she said

maybe he's jealous
maybe he wants to sit here with me

you said
she laughed

don't be silly
she said

and you moved
towards her

and kissed her lips
and she pulled you

nearer to her
with one of her hands

behind your neck
and you smelt

lavender water
and her hair brushed

against your cheek
and when your lips

left hers
they felt branded

as if hot coals
had been there

and she said
that was wonderful

and over her shoulder
across the way

Rolland had let in
a goal as his stretched

out hand
missed the ball.

poem by Terry Collett
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As You Walked One Summer's Day.

These lanes are very narrow
you said
walking with Jane

from the parsonage
where she lived
to where the farm road began

Are they?
she replied
I've never thought about it

just that the hedges are high
and the birds chock full
in them and their songs

Yes
you said
They are

and in London
there are no hedges
or narrow lanes

and the only birds
are sparrows
and pigeons

and you wanted
to take hold
of her hand

and squeeze gently
the flesh
and sense her pulse

but you didn't
you put your hands
in your jean pockets

and gazed sideways on
at her and her dark hair
and her profile

and the scent of her
like lavender
as if she'd dived

into a wide field of it
and embraced
the flowers and stalks

What bird song is that?
she asked
No idea

you replied
moving closer to her
the scent getting stronger

the desire to be closer
taking hold but still at bay
It's a blackbird

she said
You'll learn them all
the birdsongs

and where and how
they nest and in what months
and you nodded

and saw how
the summery dress
moved and swayed

as she walked
the flowered pattern
like a field moved

by a soft breeze
and her sandaled feet
touching the gravelled lane

and you thinking
how it would be
for them to be held

and kissed by you
if she were beside you
lying in a field

or in one
of those tall woods
and you pursed your lips

and she looked up at the sky
her eyes gathering
the blueness

and whiteness of clouds
and she said
Monet would have captured that so well

and You
you muttered
He would capture you well

each aspect
of your face
and hair and eyes

and she smiled
and looked at you and said
I'd want to be captured by Renoir

have his arthritic fingers
clutching brush
and capture me

and maybe secretly
lust after me
and she blushed

and turned away
and you thought
Oh yes yes yes

but said nothing
just gazed
and breathed in

her being
her beauty
all there

for you to view
the eyes
the hair

the profile
the way her lips smiled
and sway of walk

and the tall hedges
seemed to explode
with the wild bird's talk.

poem by Terry Collett
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Beneath the Blue.

You both walked along
the narrow country lane

to the small church
and lay in the overgrown grass

in the churchyard
looking up

at the summer sky
and Jane said

It's so peaceful here
I feel as if part of me

were mixed
with the whole

of nature
you listened to her

looking at her
sideways on

seeing her profile
laying amidst

the green grass
her head facing

the blueness of sky
her hands resting

upon her breasts
with one leg straight

the other lifted upwards
with the knee bent

Do you feel that?
she asked

looking at you side wards
her eyes leaving the sky

and resting on you
Yes

you replied
but not thinking

of what she had
but of the beauty of her

and you being there
and taking note

of her eyes and hair
and moving lips

and hands at rest
and her soft youthful breast

and that glimpse
of thigh capturing

your eye
Yes

you repeated
I feel a part of that

feel almost drowned
in its beauty

and she turned
and you saw her smile

and heard birdsong
and felt the sun on skin

and the saw the expanse
of sky and clouds

white chariots moving
across the blue

and wanted that moment
for always and forever

and you reached out a hand
and touched her shoulder

and would had touched
and felt her more

had you been bolder
and she said

We lay here with the dead
but our bones and flesh

are filled with life and love
unlike theirs

wasted away
Yes

you whispered
feeling her bones

beneath the flesh
Just like us some day.

poem by Terry Collett
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Cloud Formations and Jane..

I like cloud formations
Jane said
laying on her back

in the small church yard
looking up at the sky
above her head

it's like a form of art
you said
grey and white

against a canvas of blue
that looks like a man's head
Jane said

the way it forms
and unforms
you followed

the pointing
of her finger at the sky
that looks like a dog

over there
you said
she looked

and then gazed at you
her blue eyes
catching the sun's light

through a tree above
I like these moments alone
with you

she said
no one near us
no disturbance

no sounds save for birdsong
and the buzz of bees
you moved closer to her

and lay with you right hand
supporting your head
searching her eyes

her dark hair
about her face
daddy said

that Heaven is above us
and looking
at the cloud formations

I feel I see it
especially when the sun
shines through

she said
her lips moving
with slow motion

I think that sometimes
you said
she leaned nearer to you

and kissed your lips
then lay back
and stared at the clouds

and sky
and you lay back too
thinking inwardly

this is where
I'd like to lie
the day I die.

poem by Terry Collett
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Standing Beside Fay One Saturday.

It was Saturday morning
and Fay stood beside you

on the balcony of the flats
looking over the Square

she pointed at the baker
and his horse drawn cart

down by the wall below
my daddy says he's Jewish

she said
those who asked

for the death of Christ
you followed the baker

as he made his way to the stairs
carrying his bread basket

I don't think he was involved
you said watching the baker

until he disappeared up the stairs
she looked right over the balcony

gripping the brick wall
with her hands

I don't think he's Jewish at all
she said letting her feet

dropp back on the floor
and it doesn't matter if he is

I think he's a nice man
she added

looking at you
with her bright blue eyes

and you gazed at her
standing there

her flowered dress
colourful and coming

just below her knees
her battered sandals

having seen
better days

and her fair hair
tied into a ponytail

at the back
she looked over

the balcony again
I like to feed his horse

with sugar cubes
I get from home

she said thoughtfully
you lean over the balcony

beside her
your elbow touching hers

the pulse of her being
vibrating into your arm

you imagine
don't your parents mind

you taking their sugar?
you asked

she looked guiltily away
they don't know

she said softly
daddy would punish

if he knew
she paused and then said

you won't tell them will you?
the baker came along

the balcony behind you both
whistling happily

of course not
you said

taking in her
trembling jaw line

her blue eyes
and her lips slightly open

her words gone
it's a nice day

the baker called
yes

you both replied
I don't think he's Jewish

she said
anyway.

poem by Terry Collett
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For Love Of

You're the boy
from near the farm
aren't you?

Jane asked
standing by
the school bus

after school
had finished
for the day

yes
you replied
yes I am

and you wanted
to say more
but your tongue

dried up
as if stuck
in some desert

someone said
you're new there
she added

looking at you
with her pale blue eyes
a few months

you said
taking in
her smooth skin

how dark her hair
how straight
and touching over

her shoulders
you ventured words
are you

the parson's daughter?
she nodded
rather than spoke

her reply
then looked away
as other kids

came towards
the school bus
and stood back

as they climbed aboard
their noisy voices
drowning out

the ambience
of her being there
like big guns of war

breaking through
the peacefulness
of a pre-war dawn

and you waited for her
to speak again
but she looked back

at the school
as if the audience
granted you

had ended
and you stood there
waiting to board the bus

like all the rest
come on Jane
someone called

and she turned
and climbed aboard
leaving you to stand

and watch
the lifting
of her leg

the black shiny shoes
the white socks
the way her hands

pulled her up
the next step
and you savouring

each moment
of her motion
full of a love

like one
for a work of art
full of emotion.

poem by Terry Collett
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Her Beautifulness.

There's an empty cottage
at the end of this lane
Jane said

and there's a large apple tree
in the garden
and no one goes there

so maybe we can look
through the windows
and see what's there

sounds good
you said
and she smiled at you

in her shy manner
and brushed her fingers
through her long black hair

and breathed in
the summer air
and there were birds

flying overhead
and a small brook
running along side

the lane
and you felt happy
being there with her

looking at her profile
at the way her eyes
looked about her

and her flowered summer dress
she said her mother made
and the way she swayed

her hips as she walked
and you sensed her nearness
her just being there

just a fingertip away
and when you came
to the empty cottage

she ran ahead and peered
through the windows
and you came along beside her

and looked through the glass
at the emptiness within
and she said

let's see if the doors are locked
and she ran to the door
and pushed but it was locked

and she said
just a chance we could have gone in
and pretended it was ours

and imagined where
we could have put our furniture
and we could have gone up the stairs

and looked out and pretended
it was our bedroom
and we had just married

and then she was silent
and you stood behind her
and touched her arm

and said
let's go pick some apples
and you can pretend

you're going to cook
an apple-pie
for our dinner instead

and she smiled
and gently pressed her lips
on your cheek

a small wet warmness
entered you
and oh

you thought
as she ran to the tree
that she would always be here

just the summer sun
and she in her beautifulness
and 13 year old me.

poem by Terry Collett
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Saturday Morning 1961

Jane climbed off
the Saturday bus to town

her black hair ruffled
by the wind

her eyes
looking over at you

her mother close by
you standing by the wall

having climbed from the bus
a few moments before

your mother stood
and spoke to others

you watched as Jane buttoned up
her coat against the winter cold

her fingers turning blue
then she moved over to you

and said
I saw you by the water tower last night

as we drove by
my father visiting

a parishioner in the village
I was watching the sun

moving beyond the Downs
you said

like some giant moving
away to sleep

she smiled
and surreptitiously

she touched your hand
her mother's head

looking the other way
talking to your mother

of her husband's work
of church or of weather

or whatever
you gazed at Jane's eyes

the turn of head
the smile on lips

the way her hands touched
oh to be with her

away from others
to talk and walk

and capture each moment
with her closeness

but then her mother
moved away to shop

and Jane followed
just behind

and as she walked away
you painted her figure

and beauty
in your mind.

poem by Terry Collett
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Not Always What We Seek

After you'd got on
the school bus
and sat down

in one of the side seats
Jane said
who did you fight with

in the playground
lunchtime?
Woolgar

you said
he pushed me over
against the wire fence

and I got up
and went for him
she looked disappointed

I didn't think
you could be violent
she said

I'm not usually
but it was an automatic
response to being

pushed over
you said
my daddy said

one should turn
the other cheek
especially if you're a Christian

she said softly
the school bus
started up

and took off down
the school drive
sorry

you said
but the creep
got under my skin

and if you let them
get away with it once
they'll always do it

she gazed at you
then out
of the window

at the passing shops
and buildings
of the town

were you watching?
you asked
yes I saw you

from the girl's playground
she muttered
not looking round

guess it looked
kind of bad
yes it did

she turned
and looked at you
but at least

you don't do it
all the time
she said

and touched
your hand
with hers

and you felt sad
inside that you'd
made her feel like that

and you saw
how lovely her
dark eyes were

how there seemed
to be a mini universe
in them with their own

galaxies and stars
and moons
next time I'll think twice

you said
before hitting
the other boy

she nodded
and smiled
and her hand

squeezed yours
her skin soft and warm
her hair black

and drawn back
into a ponytail
sitting there

beside you
her grey school skirt
and jumper

and white blouse
the neck open
the sight

of her throat
and you wanting
to kiss but not doing so

her neck
her skin
the feel

of her hair
against your cheek
sometimes

you thought
we can't have
what we seek.

poem by Terry Collett
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Helen Wiped Her Glasses

Helen wiped
her thick lens glasses

with the hem
of her school dress

and you watched
her finger and thumb

move around the glass
in circular motion

Can you see much
without your glasses?

you asked
she looked up at you

and said
Not much

you for instance
are like a small tree

without leaves
with thin branches

hanging down
you smiled and saw

as she lifted the hem
a glimpse of thigh

white as one kept
out of sun and light

But what do I look like
with your glasses on?

you asked
looking at her face

and eyes that squinted
quite naked

without the specs
A boy who's cheeky

but often shy
especially around girls

and their blue eyes
and dark curls

and she giggled
and dropped

the hem of
her dress

and put her glasses on
and her eyes enlarged

and gazed at you
taking in

your unkempt hair
and school boy grin

and at that moment
as she stood stifling

her giggle with one
small hand

you sensed a love
you neither had before

nor could
in the light of day

and innocence of youth
quite understand.

poem by Terry Collett
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Naming of Things.

That's a Small Skipper
Jane said

And that's a Clouded yellow
as two butterflies

flittered overhead
as you both lay

in the tall grass
on the side

of the Downs
and you followed

her finger
as it indicated

the butterflies' flight
and then they were gone

and she gazed at you
and said

What?
How do you know

the names of things?
I'm a country girl

not a townie like you
she replied

her lips moulding
the words like a potter

moulds clay
and you caught a whiff

of her perfume
carried on the calm breeze

over your heads
and you looked

at her there
in the grass

her head turned back
to the sky

her eyes reflecting
the summer blue

and her left leg
bent upwards

so that her knee
stood naked

beneath the sun
and her right hand

lay next to yours
the white blouse

open at the neck
and she said

I often used to lay here
alone listening

to the overhead birds
and the winds' moan

watching tractors
in the fields below

and mother wondering
where I was

And now?
you asked

Does she wonder
where you are now?

she turned her head
and gazed at you

No not now
she knows I'm with you

and that I'm showing you
the store of nature

and the panoramic view
And she trusts you?

you asked
sensing her hand

touch yours
the flesh warm

and soft
She trusts you

Jane said
and another butterfly

fluttered by
like a ballerina overhead.

poem by Terry Collett
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What Others May Think.

Apart from the water tower
and the farm

and a few scattered cottages
there were no other buildings

for a mile or more
just you and Jane

and birds in the early morning sky
I like it at this time of day

she said
I like the fresh smell of nature

and the farm
and having few people about

you walked beside her down the lane
that led away from the farm

you noticed how her black hair
seemed freshly washed

and blew slightly in the mild wind
does you father mind

you being out with me?
you asked softly

he doesn't know
she replied

he thinks I came out alone
for a morning walk

why didn't you tell him?
you asked

he was busy writing his Sunday sermon
and it was easier to just go out

and not disturb him
she said looking around at you

her eyes studying you
as she walked on down the lane

would he mind you being with me?
you asked

I don't think he knows you as yet
seeing as you have only moved here

a few months and don't come
to the church

you stopped and took her hand in yours
it was warm and soft

and pulsed with life
she looked at your hand

holding hers and she rubbed
her thumb over the back

of your hand
you wanted to kiss her lips

or cheek just to feel
her flesh on yours

but you didn't you just looked at her
and waited to see

what she would do next
she let go of your hand

and looked around her
there might be people looking

from those cottages up there
she said suddenly pointing up

at the rising bank which went up
to two cottages high up

if they see us they may tell Father
and then it would be awkward

and he might suspect things
and then she went quiet

and looked at the running stream
by the lane

but we haven't done anything
we just walk out and talk

and hold hands now and then
it's not what we do

it's what others think we do
she said softly

and stood looking at you
waiting for you to speak

but you said nothing
just leaned in close to her

and kissed her cheek
and said

even Christ permitted kisses
even the one from Judas

and she smiled
and the early morning sun

pushed through trees
and shone on her hair

and there was the sound of birds
singing in the air.

poem by Terry Collett
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Judy and You and Chagall

What did you think
of the Chagall postcard print
I bought you?
Judy asked as you both sat

outside the Fox Inn
I pinned it on my wall
you replied
and stared at it every time

I entered the room
thinking of you
she sipped her drink
her eyes searching you

her hair tied behind
in a ponytail
so I gathered
by your letters

she said
putting her glass
on the small wooden table
I missed you

you said
I went to London
while you were away
and saw you

in every girl I saw
even at the ballet
at the opera house
she looked at her glass

I was only away for a week
she said
it seemed a year
you said

you inhaled the cigarette
you were holding
taking in her hair
and eyes and how

her lips moved
as she spoke
Florence was fantastic
she said

I picked out
that Chagall print for you
in one of the art galleries
who did you go with?

you asked
friends
she replied
male or female?

both
she said
you inhaled the cigarette again
and thought of the first time

you kissed her
how the moonlight
shone on her face
as you moved her around

you mustn't be so jealous
she said
I have to see others
who was the guy?

Henrik
she said
you imagined her
and this Henrik

making out
in some Florence hotel
his hands touching her
I thought of you

every moment
you said
that's sad
she said

why?
you said
because no one
should think of another

that often
she sipped her drink
and looked around
at the evening sky

how was Florence?
beautiful
she said
like you

you said
I am like Shakespeare's' lily
she said
as it withers

she added
I see
you said
and you studied

her hands as they lifted
the glass to her lips
the fingers
the skin

the way they held
the glass
did you read my letters
when you got home?

you asked
yes
she said
every single one

my mother said
I must have besotted
some poor soul
and you thought

of the Chagall print
and how you had sniffed it
for traces of her scent
and remembered

your mother's words
nothing is given forever
things in this world
are only lent.

poem by Terry Collett
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Janice and You At London Bridge

It was the fourth day
since the break up
from school
for the summer vacation

and you were riding
with Janice
on the bus
to London Bridge

and she was wearing
the lemon coloured dress
you liked
that came to the knees

which were pressed
together
and the brown sandals
with the patterned holes

and the red beret
on her fair hair
was swaying
with the motion

of the bus
opposite you
was a man
wearing a trilby

and a moustache
who kept looking at you
with his dark eyes
his head going

from side to side
as the bus moved
and he sat next
to Janice

his hands
on his knees
and he turned
and gazed

at Janice's knees
then up at you again
his features flushing
and then he looked away

at the passing scene
behind you
pretending
you weren't there

then at London Bridge
he got off
and so did you
and Janice

and you waited
until he had gone
walking up
and over the bridge

and you said
he was a queer fish
who?
said Janice

that bloke
who sat next to you
why?
she asked

he kept staring at me
and ogling
at your knees
did he?

Janice said
you wait
until I tell Gran
about that

she'll say
you watch out
for his type Janice
he's no better

than he ought to be
you nodded
and smiled
at her imitation

of her gran
and she laughed
and you both
walked down

the steps and by
Southwark Cathedral
to the embankment
by the River Thames

and stood by the wall
looking at the passing
boats and ships and tugs
and the occasional

ducks floating
on the brown water
and you felt Janice's
9 year old hand

touch yours
as she pretended
(as she often did)
that you were

a married couple
out for a romantic walk
gazing
at the passing scenery

with the added
small talk.

poem by Terry Collett
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The Drying of Hair.

Jane's mother gave you both
a towel from the airing cupboard

after you had been caught
in the rain

running from the church porch
to the parsonage

and then she went off
to carry on

with her pie making
and Jane took you

along the hallway
to her bedroom

and opened the door
and after you had entered

she closed the door
with a soft click

and you both stood there
in the quiet room

rubbing you heads
with the towels

pushing away
the wetness

from your hair
and you smelt the room

the smell of polish
the lavender scent

the smell
of fresh linen

and smell of the flowers
outside caught still

in the rain
and Jane said

You are only here
because she trusts you

she seems to see through
people's veneer

and weighs them
in the scales

in her mind
and you stood still

rubbing your hair
looking at her

the way she had
the towel in her hands

over her hair
the hair all messed up

and she having
that sparkle in her eyes

like the first spear
of the sunshine

pushing through
the window at dawn

and she gazed at you
with her eyes

like polished marbles
and her words

hung there
on the air

like musical notes
on an invisible stave

and you said
I'm glad she trusts me on

just the one look
and Jane smiled

and kissed your lips
her flesh on yours

and the pressing
of skin on skin

and she gently
moved away

and pointed to the sky
and said

Looks like more rain
and you just nodded

wanting her to kiss you
once again.

poem by Terry Collett
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