For the Meeting of Hearts and Lips
Julie took
one of the cigarettes
out of the packet
you had bought
and said
you're too kind
and lit it
with a small
plastic lighter
she took from her bag
you both sat
in a side room
set aside
for patients and guests
just off the drug
dependency ward
she was in
there was a scene
of a few trees
and bushes
from the window
marred by the sight
of the other part
of the hospital
over the way
glad you could come
she said
my parents
won't visit me here
don't they love you?
you asked
it's a matter of what
the neighbours might say
if they found out
I was here
she answered
inhaling deeply
and looking at you
with her dark eyes
her dark hair
was pulled back
in an untidy bun
and the hospital
dressing gown
she wore
was stained
and open
at the neck
and down
revealing a small cleavage
of young pinkish flesh
why did you come?
she asked
I wanted to see you
you replied
none of the others
from the Church come
she said
it's all talk
and promises
and God talk
but none
have come to see me
so far
she inhaled again
and stared out
the window
you studied how
she had crossed
her legs
showing
a glimpse of thigh
where her white
dressing gown
and nightdress
rose high
a nurse entered the room
and said
would you like tea
or coffee?
yes
Julie said
two coffees please
and the nurse
went out and off
her feet pitter
pattering down
the corridor
through the half
open door
I'm lucky here
she said
some druggies
get shoved in mental wards
or poked in
psychiatric units
with other
damaged goods
it seems ok
you replied
lifting your eyes
from her thighs
to her face
pure in its makeup
less state
and dark eyes
19 years young
she said
and already buggered up
as my father has said
I'm sure they love you
in their way
you said
taking in her neck
and the run
of her chin
and her mouth
with the small
moving lips
the nurse came in
with a tray
with two mugs
of white coffee
and a bowl
of brown sugar
and set it down
on the small grey table
and walked out
my parents love me
as property
not as a person
she said
uncrossing
her legs
and lifting a mug
and taking small sips
and oh you thought
(lifting a mug
and drinking)
for the meeting
of our hearts
and lips.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Visiting Julie
Chocolates and cigarettes?
Julie says
as you sit in a chair
opposite her
in the rest room
of the hospital
in the psychiatric ward
I thought you'd prefer them
to flowers
you reply
yes
she says
flowers tend to lie
heavy in my gut
and she smiles
and you look at her there
with her dark hair
long but dishevelled
I haven't brushed my hair
or bathed yet
she says
seeing you look at her
but you can scrub my back
if you want
she says
watching you blush
best not
you say looking away
seeing out the window
a small garden
with summer flowers
but sensing
a slight movement
in your groin
at the mere thought
of her suggestion
how did you find me?
she asks
of all the hospitals
and all the wards
in this area
you managed to walk
into mine
she adds
you make me sound
like Bogart to Bacall
you say shyly
how about a drink later
down the road to the bar?
she says
You're permitted to drink
while on drugs?
you ask
studying her eyes
and her lips slightly parted
only cola
she says pulling a face
but at least it gets me
out of this place
for an hour or so
you look at her
a small stirring
still taking place
between your thighs
there's a small room
where they keep brooms
and brushes and such
where we can go
for a quickie
she says
looking at you
studiously
then breaking
into a laugh
at the sight
of your shocked face
some other time
you say
some other place
cigarette?
she asks
opening up
the pack you'd brought
you nod
and she hands you one
between her slim fingers
and you place it
between your lips
and she lights it
with a small red
plastic lighter
and you heave in
and feel the smoke
hit the back
of your throat
she inhales deep
and says
I prefer the ones
that make me float
and you see hollowness
open up in her
and her eyes
become wide open spaces
like cold winter skies.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Julie and You and Christ
Julie was walking
down Oxford Street
with you
one of her hands
was in yours
the other was holding
a cigarette which she put
to her lips and drew on
and exhaled the smoke
and said
pushing smoke
into the world
do you think Christ
ever came?
of course
you replied
the whole calendar
of the Western world
is spilt before and after
his coming
she inhaled deeply
and stopped to peer
in a shop window
don't like that dress
it's too darn middle class
too safe
you looked at the dress
in the window
at the colours and style
would your mother where it?
you asked
she'd wear it
but I wouldn't
be seen dead in it
she said
moving you on
squeezing your hand
reminding you
of the quick grope
and sex in the small cupboard
off the ward
where she was staying
while trying to kick
the drug habit
she spread out
amongst brooms and boxes
and you there gazing at her
wondering if some domestic
would find you there
well? do you think
Christ really came?
she asked
yes
you said
he split history in two
he made people
either love him
or hate him
and want to destroy him
and what he stood for
she laughed and said
you certainly got him
under your skin
I don't think he came at all
she said
before inhaling
her cigarette smoke
I think it was all
a big joke played out
on the Jews
to get them riled
she inhaled
her cigarette smoke
and was silent
as you walked on
down the Street
it was no joke
being crucified
no joke hanging there
on that cross
you said
she pulled you
into a shop doorway
and kissed you
and said
oh forget about him
and his crucifixion
I've had enough
of the parents
ramming him
into my brain
over the years
and she kissed you again
and you looked
into her dark eyes
where you thought
many a dream comes
and drowns
and dies.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Julie and You in Trafalgar Square
Julie sat on one
of the fountain walls
in Trafalgar Square
and lit a cigarette
she looked about her
as if she were onto
something harder
as if she had some one
looking at her
from some secret place
you gazed at her
unused to seeing her
not in her hospital
dressing gown
and slippered feet
her hair had been brushed neat
and makeup applied
and she said
I was picked up here
some months back
by some guy
who wanted sex
he thought
I was a pro
and the things
he asked for
god that was the worse
and with that
she paused
and stared at the Square
at the people
and the pigeons
and she inhaled deep
and then exhaled
blowing the smoke
out of the corner
of her mouth
like you'd seen done
in the movies
what did you say
to the guy
who picked you up
and what did he want
you to do?
she looked at you
her eyes scanning
your features
and then leaning closer
she said
I told him I wasn't
a whore and to go off
some place else
you watched her fingers
holding the cigarette
the way she held it
between her fingers
as if it was some
precious item she'd found
what did he want you to do?
you asked
he wanted sex
in all my orifices
she whispered
before inhaling again
the cigarette was clamped
between her lips
and she rubbed
her fingers
on her jeans
she screwed up her eyes
against the smoke
my grandfather said
if it wasn't for whores
more women
would be raped
and attacked
you said
that guy was a creep
he smelt of strong aftershave
and body odour
she said
what a combination
you said
she stumped
the cigarette butt
onto the wall
and flicked it
across the Square
let's go and view the art
in the Gallery behind us
she said
and you followed her
to the Portrait Gallery
her buttocks swaying
like some ship at sea
the jeans tight
and clinging
and across the Square
church bells were pulled
and were ringing.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Over His Latte.
He's only just sat down
in the cafe when she enters
and stands at the counter
waiting to be served. He lets
his latte settle. Allows his
eyes to scrutinize. The waitress
serves the woman in the white
hat and black dress. He notes
her fine figure, the low cut at
the neck, the thin straps over
shoulders. He tries to breathe
in from where he sits her perfume,
but it doesn't come. The woman
orders an espresso and says it
with an Italian accent. He follows
her with his eyes as she walks
to a table alone. She looks like a
girl Modigliani would have painted.
She looks at her watch and then
around the room of the cafe.
She crosses her legs, one over
the other, thigh revealed. He sips
his latte. Wipes his lips with the
back of his hand. Bad habit, mother
would have slapped his hand as a
child once. The waitress delivers
the woman's coffee; he notes the
waitress's fine behind, the hands
serving, the legs touching together.
Then she's gone. Just the woman
in the white hat to study. The way
she lifts the small white cup to her
mouth, her fingers holding delicately,
as if afraid to break. Get a life Brody
would say if he were there. But he's not;
he's away with that girl from the office,
having a lay. The woman in the hat
stares at him, her eyes devour, her lips
part like legs before sex. She looks boringly
away. He sips more latte. He doesn't like
her white hat or black dress anyway.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jane and You and the Hollow Tree.
Jane waited for you
by the narrow road
that led to Linch farm
the water tower visible
against the afternoon sky
of pale blue and white
cold clouds
she was dressed
in a grey coat
and her dark hair
was pinned back
with grips
you noticed
blueness
about her lips
the cold taking toll
wasn't sure
if you would show
she said
the coldness
and such
I said I would
and I say
what I mean
you replied
once you were close to her
she took her hands
out of the coat pockets
and linked her arm
through yours
where shall we go?
she asked
you know it better
around here than I do
you choose
you said
let's go up
the dust track
to the hollow tree
on the way up
to the Downs
she said
ok
you said
and so you walked along
and up the dust track
side by side
and she talked
of the wintery trees
and what birds
there were still about
and how she liked
spring best with the coming
of flowers and birds nesting
and you listened
looking at her
as she spoke
watching her lips move
how when she spoke
her white teeth showed
and now and then
her tongue would show
and it reminded you
of that kiss she gave you
up by Diddling church
as you stood looking
at the grave stones
and she gazed at you
and then kissed
and her tongue
touched yours
and it was like heaven
as if someone
had opened up
your heart
and stuck
their tongue in there
and as you thought
about that kiss
she talked of some girl
of a cowman
who'd got pregnant
and how did that happen?
she asked
and you said nothing
but listened on
and then you reached
the hollow tree
and climbed inside
and sat down
looking out
of the hole
in the side
and it felt cosy
in there
like a small home
and she leaned
in against you
and there was silence
and you looked at her
at her eyes
and hair
and how her lips
were parted
and her white teeth
showed and her tongue
waiting to speak
and you wondered
about that kiss again
and whether
it would happen this time
there in the hollow tree
out of sight
of others
and she showed you
tucked between
her small breasts
a small locket
which used to be
her mother's.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hi Nrg
(i. levine / f. trench)
High energy, your love is lifting me.
Oh, yeah...
High energy, your love is lifting me,
Lifting me high...high...
Oh, so high.
It was only last week when we first met,
And I was walking down the street.
You came up from behind me and I knew
That our eyes were gonna meet.
Thats when I fell into your arms,
Imagine my surprise.
I thought this only happened in fairy-tales,
Love hit me right between the eyes.
Ooh
High energy, your love is lifting me.
Oh, yeah...
High energy, your love is lifting me,
Lifting me high...high...
When you called me on the telephone,
You made my spirits rise.
Im glad the others didnt last;
Its a blessing in disguise.
Every time youre touching me,
It gives me such a thrill.
When I look deep into your eyes,
My heart just cant keep still.
Oh, no, no, no!
High energy, your love is lifting me.
Ooh, yeah... high energy, your love is lifting me,
Lifting me high...high...(oh so high)
All the gold thats in fort knox,
Couldnt buy this happiness.
And with your love, I dont need money,
I dont need success.
I became a victim of a certain love attack.
It happened in the blink of an eye,
And theres no holding back.
No, no ,no ,no!
High energy, your love is lifting me. (oh, yeah)
High energy, your love is lifting me. (oh, yeah...high)
High energy, your love is lifting me. (oh, yeah)
High energy, your love is lifting me.
Lifting me high...
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sports Day 1962
It was sports day
at high school
and the field and tracks
were crowded with
teachers and kids
and the sun was out
causing sweat
and heat rash
and Reynard said to you
that girl who fancies your ass
is waving to you
over by the small wood
of trees and bushes
so you looked over
and saw Christina
waving a hand at you
leaping up and down
her short gym skirt
rising and falling
as she leaped
showing off
now and then
her dark green panties
mind she don't eat you
Reynard said
and walked off
to watch the races
as you wandered over
to where she stood
at the edge
of the small wood
don't you look
the sexy beast
in your black shorts
she said
eyeing you over
her right hand smoothing
down your white tee shirt
are you running?
she asked
yes a short sprint
you replied
anything more than that
and I'm buggered
she looked at the field
holding her hands
in front of her
and you gazed
at her white legs
and white ankle socks
and black plimsolls
I'm in the relay race
she said
I‘ll have to watch
to see when my turn comes
then she turned to you
and said
have you been inside the wood?
you looked behind you
no not so far have you?
yes we went there
in science looking for bugs
and such
she said
maybe you could show me
you said
what?
bugs and flowers
and butterflies
you replied
she smiled at you
maybe but teachers might be watching
or other kids or prefects
and what if my brother Cedric
sees us enter
and tells my parents?
just a science tour
to see all nature's gifts
you said
tell them that
if any see us go
and you watched her
fumble with her fingers
looking around the field
and whispered softly
no.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Small Things Bother Me
He wore dark glasses I could not see his eyes
And the mirror to his soul he did disguise
He hid from the World his personality
Without the eyes a face you only see.
Perhaps his eyes from the bright sun he shade
The main reason why dark glasses are made
And though he lives nearby him I shall never get to know
As he wears dark glasses rain or sun shine or snow.
Any acknowledgement of me he never seems to show
And we pass each other by without saying hello
Through his dark glasses into my soul he peer
And he's still a stranger though to me he lives near.
Perhaps I'm small in ways and small things get to me
But it bothers me when others eyes I cannot see
Whether their eyes be blue, brown, green or grey who can say
As the mirror to their soul behind dark glasses hidden away.
I see him often though not every day
And his eyes behind dark glasses always hidden away
The mirror of his soul is well hidden from me,
Perhaps I'm small and small things bother me.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Privvy.......Toilet Trolls
Twas sordid that thought
Midwinter handed a lit
Oil lamp
Glowing
Showing the way outside to the shiny black paint of
The toilet door
Lift the latch....clunk! as your eyes scoured the darkness the bushes
For bogey men, trolls and murderers
Place lamp on window sill
Put small buttocks on the winter chilled toilet seat
Heart beats at a quickened pace
As a small scared face gazes
Out
Eyes foraging the white painted walls
For spiders and daddy long legs
Anything that crawls
And flys
And eats small, small children
Eyes down on two chubby little legs
Distant from the floor
And go girl go!
As quick as you can
As the sounds and rustles blown outside are
Definitely
The bogey man
He's coming after your guts and gore
Push little lady and try to be gone
Before
The doors ripped off its hinges
And you are dragged into the abyss
And they will all read about
The little lost Miss....
poem by Karen Sinclair
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Small Talk
Its not the chapters he reads when youre feeling low down
Its not the touch of his skin when you kiss him goodnight
Its not the money he spends when you want to buy a daydream
And not that miracle smile that makes the sky bright
Its not the way his hands behave
When youve turned out the light
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen
Small, small small talk that makes you want to fly, yes it does
Its not the way he believes in you like a religion
Its not the thrill that you get when hes holding you tight
Its not the way his eyes persuade
You to stay the night
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen (just like that)
Small, small small talk that makes you feel like flying, yes it does
Information, heart and soul, a whisper, a word
Confessions that have to be heard
Small small talk
Come on now, come on now
Come on - you make it rock so heavenly
Come on now, come on now
Come on - you seem to talk so heavenly
Big words...
Small talk...
Its not the way his eyes persuade
You to stay the night
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen
Small, small small talk that makes you feel like flying, yes it does
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Young in New Orleans
starving there, sitting around the bars,
and at night walking the streets for
hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, maybe it was,
and in the French Quarter I watched
the horses and buggies going by,
everybody sitting high in the open
carriages, the black driver, and in
back the man and the woman,
usually young and always white.
and I was always white.
and hardly charmed by the
world.
New Orleans was a place to
hide.
I could piss away my life,
unmolested.
except for the rats.
the rats in my dark small room
very much resented sharing it
with me.
they were large and fearless
and stared at me with eyes
that spoke
an unblinking
death.
women were beyond me.
they saw something
depraved.
there was one waitress
a little older than
I, she rather smiled,
lingered when she
brought my
coffee.
that was plenty for
me, that was
enough.
there was something about
that city, though
it didn't let me feel guilty
that I had no feeling for the
things so many others
needed.
it let me alone.
sitting up in my bed
the llights out,
hearing the outside
sounds,
lifting my cheap
bottle of wine,
letting the warmth of
the grape
enter
me
as I heard the rats
moving about the
room,
I preferred them
to
humans.
being lost,
being crazy maybe
is not so bad
if you can be
that way
undisturbed.
New Orleans gave me
that.
nobody ever called
my name.
no telephone,
no car,
no job,
no
anything.
me and the
rats
and my youth,
one time,
that time
I knew
even through the
nothingness,
it was a
celebration
of something not to
do
but only
know.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Eyes Of Mr D (Part 1)
They took the cotton gauze away
from his closed eyes.
“You can open them now Mr D.”
He opened his eyes to see hazy figures there,
black and grey images, and nothing more.
A gentle and kind voice, asked him what he saw.
“Hazy images>“He replied.
“It will be like that for a little while,
and then they will begin to clear.”
Each day his sight got better, the
haze began to clear.
Then the colour came,
and a rainbow spectrum appeared before his eyes,
of things he could never see.
A light shone through his life,
of things he had never known.
A new awakening
with images to fit the sounds.
His mind began to wonder
where his new eyes had come from.
They were not allowed to tell him,
who the donor was or anything about them.
Finally, he was released from hospital.
He went back to his flat
where he had to learn again,
where everything was now that he could see.
He smiled at the white walking stick.
He would keep it as a reminder
of how lucky he was.
Sitting in his chair in the sunshine,
as it came through the window.
Then it happened.
It was as if he were in a dream.
The images lost their colour.
He was in a place he had never seen before.
Hands reached out around the neck,
of a face he could not see.
It seemed as if
they were strangling the life out of someone there.
The body struggled and then went limp.
On the body, falling, the face was now revealed.
A young pretty face
distorted in the throes of death.
poem by David Harris
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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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Another Night with Miss Pinkie
Miss Pinkie (she dropped
the title Mrs from
her name ages ago)
lay on the sofa
and said
take me if you want
spank me if you will
and he stood
looking at her
a glass of scotch
in his hand
the music of Mahler's
symphony number 4
coming through the door
from an outer room
she lay butt naked
her amble flesh
spread out
her hands resting
on her breasts
who's the orchestra
on the Mahler piece?
he asked
can't remember
she said shifting slightly
her blue eyes searching him
aren't you going to oblige?
she said
he drank back
the scotch
and put the glass down
on the small coffee table
can I sit first?
sure
she said and sat up
and moved over
to allow him room
beside her
he gazed at her
at her dyed blonde hair
at her eyes deep
like oceans of blueness
knowing she had
19 years upward on him
and all she wanted
was a few hours
of talk and laughter
and a leisurely screw
one of the old guys
died at the home today
he said
out of the blue
oh which one?
she asked
the one who sat
in his room each day
and looked out
the window
and said next to nothing
oh him
she said
think he was
broken hearted
she added
he took in
the beauty spot
on her cheek
like Marilyn used
to have years ago
so how about it?
she asked
are you ready for it?
the Mahler piece softened
some moving movement
well?
she said placing
a hand on his thigh
maybe you could put
on Brahms for a change
he said
sensing her hands
move upwards
maybe
she said softly
if you're a good boy
the lights were low
the lights from the street
added a different shade
of glow
ok
he said
and her hands moved
and did their work
and so did his
bit by bit
time over time
the music playing on
in the background
that and flesh slapping
and the sofa squeaking
was the symphony
of a sexual sound.
poem by Terry Collett
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A Room At The Top.
It was a room
at the top of the building
music being played
from some hifi system
and Judy said
you dance quite well
thanks
you said
haven't seen you
here before
she looked at you
with her dark eyes
I come for the drug aid
they help me here
to get of the junk
oh right
you replied
looking for signs
of needle marks
or signs in the eyes
you take junk?
No I'm a booze clown
you said
she nodded
and danced to the music
for a moment or so
my parents are doctors
in the City and have put me
in the hospital but I get out
for a few hours
and they let me
come here for the help
you looked at her dressed
in her tight slacks
and over long jumper
her breasts small
compact
untouchable
her hips swaying
to the music's beat
the way she moved
drawing you in
smelling her scent
her words lost
in a singer's voice
a guitar whining
in and out
maybe I can come see you
you have to shout
over the music's rising sound
sure
she said
moving her neat ass
as she moved around
and she whispered
the address and where
the hospital was
and how to get there
then she was whisked away
by some guy
with a drugged out
look in his eye
and you watched her sway
moving off
going slowly
but sexily away.
poem by Terry Collett
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