Climbing With Jane.
Jane had climbed
the Downs with you
and had hardly spoken
on the tiring climb
along the dried up tracks
on the way up
and then at the top
standing beside you
she stared out across
the countryside
and said
you can see
where I live from here
and she pointed out
to the church down beneath
and you said
yes
and took in the church
and the house
where she lived
with the parson
and his wife
and tried to pick out
which bedroom was hers
and she said
I like it up here
away from the crowds
and nearer to God
and you studied her profile
and her hair
and the way she stood there
in that summer dress
and sandals
and with that youthfulness
and you wanted suddenly
to kiss her
and embrace her
but you didn't
you just stood
and studied her profile
and moving closer
you reached out
your hand
and touched hers
and her hand was warm
and as you squeezed it gently
you sensed the pulse of life
run through
and the moment
seemed to explode
in your head
in a myriad
of colours and sounds
and you rubbed your thumb
along her wrist
checking the pulse
the life
wanting her
to be the one
and pointing upward
she said breaking through
your dream
look at the colour
of that sky
and feel the warmth
of sun.
poem by Terry Collett
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Related quotes
Under Apple Trees
She lay beside you
under the apple trees
the bees and butterflies overhead
the glimmer of sunlight
through the branches
and she said
I can smell the apples
from here
and if I close my eyes
I feel I'm in a foreign field
lying in some overseas orchard
and happy beneath the sun
and you turned your head
and said
Am I with you
lying in that orchard
beneath a foreign sun?
and you studied her profile
the shadows dancing
across her cheek
a butterfly just above her head
Sure
she said
As if I'd dream of anywhere
without you by my side
and she reached out a hand
and touched your fingers
with hers and it seemed
a pulse danced
between the fingers
as if love momentarily
could be felt
could be sensed
in the space
between fingers
and riding
in the hearts
and heads
and she turned
to face you
her eyes reflecting
a different sun
and your hand sliding
along her thigh
and she shaking
her head slightly
eased out
a soft sigh.
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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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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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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Stolen Kisses Never Taken
After choir practice
you came out of the church
and she stopped
and said
I read someplace
that Pascal feared
the wide expanse
of the night sky
and you looked up
at the dark sky
and saw the moon
and scattered stars
and sensed her nearness
beside you
and smelt in the night air
her perfume
and you said
it makes you wonder
what’s out there
and she turned
and said
pointing to her breast
and in here too
and you looked
at her breast
and wondered too
and you stood close to her
as others went by
to their cars
and you reached out a hand
and touched hers
and felt the pulse of her
the aliveness within
and never knew
that cancer would enter her
and take her too
and had you known
maybe you would have stolen
many a kiss and hold and gaze
before the death
in those far off days.
poem by Terry Collett
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Time to Lose.
She was there
in the church
arranging the flowers
at the altar end
where her mother said
she'd be when you knock
at the parsonage door
some moments back
and you entered
through the old oak door
into the silence
and smell of age and flowers
seeing her
in her summer dress
unaware you stood there
her hands touching
flowers in vases
moving them into place
an intenseness
on her face
you moved slowly
down the aisle
not wanting to disturb
or cause alarm
then Jane turned
and smiled and said
I've nearly done
and tapped the flowers
in the final place
Where shall we go?
You moved closer
to where she stood
and said
To Heaven
if we're good
they say
she shook her head
and said
I meant where
about outside?
Wherever you like
you replied
studying her hands
as she wiped them
on her summer dress
how the fingers lay
how some god
brought them
to such beauty
and her eyes
and hair
and her
just standing there
enough
you mused inside
not out
to bring one to a faith
of some creative god
and she said
Why do you stare?
What holds you
rooted there?
Let's go climb
the Downs and look across
the vast expanse
of fields and trees
and birds in air
just you and me
and this love
just being there
Oh how romantic a mood
holds you today
she said and put her arm
through yours
and moved you on
and down the aisle
between the pews
unaware as youth
too often does
of hours passing
and having time to lose.
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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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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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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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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A Matter of Trust on a Summer's Day
Jane's mother said
she was up by the church
and so you went up
the path leading
to the church of St Mary
and there she was
laying some flowers
on a gravestone
she looked up
as you approached
and smiled
your mother told me
you were here
you said
I think Mother
must like you
she wouldn't
have told you
otherwise
Jane said
getting up
from the graveside
and brushing her hands
on her summery dress
who are the flowers for?
you asked
looking at the flowers
placed in a small jar
on the grave
a parishioner
we used to know
who used to like
this type of flower
oh I see
you said
looking at the graves around
and the Downs further back
and the trees nearby
where did you want to go?
you asked
how about a walk to Cocking?
we can do some shopping
while we're there
and enjoy each other's
company in the process
is it far? you asked
a mile or so
she replied
ok
you said
and you followed her
down the path
and along the lane
to her house
and you waited outside
while she went inside
after a few minutes
her mother came out
with her and said
it's very good of you
to go with Jane
all that way
I wouldn't like her
to go alone
that's all right
you said
and she smiled
and went in side
and Jane said
see she trusts you
not many boys
around here
she'd say that to
oh right
you said
looking at
her dark hair
and her eyes
gazing at you
and her hand
holding a shopping bag
and her lips
breaking into a smile
come on
she said and
so she took
your hand
and you walked
along the lane
keeping close
to the hedgerow
the sun warm
and the sky blue
and you sensed a joy
of it being
just her and you.
poem by Terry Collett
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Jane and Bullfinch Eggs
Those are Bullfinch's eggs
Jane said
pointing at
the 5 eggs
in a nest
hidden in a hedge
and as she pointed
you imagined
that some god
modelled all female fingers
on that before you
how the nail was set
so perfectly
on the finger's tip
the colour pinkish white
the skin almost blending in
we mustn't disturb
she added
or the mother bird
will fly away
and not return
oh right
you said
gazing at the eggs
once her finger
had been removed
from the hedge
you studied
the pale blue eggs
speckled there
and sensed her presence
near your cheek
the lavender
that she wore
the way her hair dark
coming to her shoulders
was tied back
from her face
some collect them
Jane said
and pierce the top
and bottom
and blow through the contents
and have them on display
do they?
you said
seeing the sad expression
she wore
why is that?
you asked
she stood back
from the hedgerow
and looking at you
with her dark eyes
said
because they must have
they have to collect
what is there
for all to see
they must just have
for themselves alone
the May sun
was shining warm
and she took your hand
in hers and walked
you on along the lane
the small stream running
by the lane's edge
her grey skirt
and white blouse
and white socks
giving her a plain look
but her eyes lit up
and she smiled again
and you wanted
at that moment
as she held your hand
for that hour
to be there forever
not to be lost
thinking you knew then
the depth of love
and not its loss
of that
and feeling sense
and not the cost.
poem by Terry Collett
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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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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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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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A Spinster At Mass
She came in dressed
in the robe of a mayoress
Her hair, curly and golden
Like that of a Roman goddess
She looked round
Her eyes, large and round
Like that of a fancy bulb.
With them she me espied
In a corner under a deck
of this unnamed Church.
Behold, here's a Pandora
at mass,
As she passed;
Not even the parson
could bypass,
He stood there like a dead
wood and stared and stared
Till his eye balls fell
from its sockets
We stared and stared
And still we stood there
and stared
Till our piety fell.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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At that Moment
At That Moment
When you looked into my eyes
When you held my hand tight
When you smiled so bright
Time seemed to slow down... Time seemed to stop somehow,
At that moment
You moved closer to me, and I moved closer to you
I felt the warmth of your lips, so soft, so beautiful
As they gently touched mine
At that moment in time
I had dreamed and imagined of that moment
Never knowing if it would be, could be, should be
But now I know without fear
That my dreams and my imagination
Were like looking at A waterless tear
like looking at a colorless photo so old
A moonless night so dark and cold...
Compared to the moment
Your lips gently touched mine
That beautiful moment in time,
So amazing, So beautiful, So wonderful.
If you could see a feeling,
Oh the colors, the sounds you would see
Of that very first moment
Of that very first beautiful kiss
What a beautiful gift, That beautiful first
KISS
poem by Daniel lee Davis
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In My Arms
(8/31/12)
When you are holding the woman you love in your arms
Snuggling up on the couch, and feeling her heartbeat
Pounding against your chest, and feeling her slow breaths.
You feel as if nothing else in the world matters
And that nothing can touch this moment of pure ecstasy
Then you know that this is where you was meant to be.
She grabs your hand and pulls it closer to her chest
And you feel that if she pulls it closer, she'll be out of breath
You take your other hand and hug her to let her know
That you care, and for her you'll always be there.
You kiss her forehead and tell her you love her
With all your heart- and that you'll never part
She looks up at you with a smile on her face
And on your lips a kiss she does place.
You look deeply into each others eyes
And your passion becomes magnified
You travel into each others soul
And feel the strength of ten fold.
You turn and face each other and your lips meet
And you know right then that your in for a treat
Your blood starts boiling like a coffee pot
And you try to control it, but it's much to hot.
You pick her up and carry her to the room
And lay her gently upon the bed
So many thoughts going thru your head.
You take off her pajamas ever so gently
And absorb all of the beauty that she was given
And you know that life is good and worth living.
The excitement rising as you pull at your clothes
And you feel like you're about to explode
You climb on top and gently caressing her face
And you move at a slow gentle pace.
The rhythm starts to pick up speed like a drum
Till it gets to the point that you're both done.
You roll on your back and gasp for air
All tensions are gone and no more cares.
You smile at each other and you say
It can't get better than this - there is no way.
© L. RAMS
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rhythmistic Pulse
One, two, three...
Rhythmistic pulse.
Rhythmistic pulse.
Rhythmistic pulse.
Rhythmistic pulse.
Rhythmistic people...
Feel within a flow of a beat,
With a rhythm pulsed.
With a rhythm pulsed.
Rhythmistic people...
Find it easy patting their feet,
With a rhythm pulsed.
With a rhythm pulsed.
And...
Harmonizing with a life that's reached,
For the sounds of nature.
With a rhythm pulsed.
Rhythmistic people...
Feel within a flow of a beat,
With a rhythm pulsed.
With a rhythm pulsed.
And...
Harmonizing with a life that's reached,
For the sounds of nature.
One, two, three...
Rhythmistic pulse.
Rhythmistic pulse.
And...
Harmonizing with a life that's reached,
For the sounds of nature.
With a rhythm pulsed.
And...
Harmonizing with a life that's reached,
For the sounds of nature.
One, two, three...
Rhythmistic pulse.
Rhythmistic pulse.
Rhythmistic pulse.
Rhythmistic,
One, two, three...
Rhythmistic pulse.
Rhythmistic pulse.
Rhythmistic pulse.
Rhythmistic,
One, two, three...
Rhythmistic,
One, two, three...
Rhythmistic pulse.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Bombs Here
Gran said it isn't safe
to walk about the bombsites
Janice said
as you walked with her
off of Meadow Row
towards the bombed out sites
of WW11
there might be
unexploded bombs
she added
holding on to your shirt sleeve
there are no
unexploded bombs here
you said
to reassure
you paused midway
and stared back
to where the coal wharf stood
and coalmen went about their work
loading trucks and horse drawn carts
how do you know?
she asked
her hand gripping
your shirt sleeve tight
don't you trust me?
you said
turning your head
seeing her eyes wide
beneath her red beret
yes but maybe there could be
hidden beneath ground
you looked around
with hand above your brow
none I can see
you said
she released your sleeve
and touched your hand
her smooth skin
like soft silk
moved over yours
you mustn't tell Gran
she said
she's forbidden me
to go on sites
you sensed her pulse
tap along your palm
of course I won't
you said
and walked across
the bricks and rubble
and weeds between
even here
amidst the bombed out ruins
a touch of green.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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