Moments of love, eternity

 

The heart aches; and this body’s grey.
Sometimes, life seems to cut its lease
Of time. And yet I find from your brief day
An evening-coloured peace.

 

Please shine, dear light: please share with me
This passing brightness, heart of fire.
Moments of love, eternity:
Without, all life’s the longest hour.

 

Dedicated to Blair, as ever, with all my heart. I first wrote this in a text to him on a whim, when I should really have been working like a good boy, on 10th March 2014. I only found it again by trawling through my files. I nearly lost it. Funnily enough, looking back to that time, i can genuinely say that the year seems to have passed in the blink of an eye, pleasantly, beautifully. Thank you darling. 

Remember me to the readying night

 

Remember me to the readying night

And her sweet dances. As you leave

To streets of friendly make-believe,

My love, so keen with appetite,

 

Please, pass my thoughts to the giddy stars

And the tender moon. While everything

Around you circles in full swing

Please raise a toast, to what was ours.

 

If you get the chance, send my regards

To every lamplight as they wink

Their last good nights, upon the brink

Of red-eyed dawn, down boulevards,

 

And home at last, when you do sleep

Upon the sofa, soundlessly,

Please, for my love: remember me

To all the dreams you do still keep.

 

 

Don’t worry if you’re reading this, darling: this is just a silly poem and you don’t need to be afraid of me… Not right now, anyhow. This is based on events looong ago. And it’s also fundamentally inspired by Everything But The Girl. 

Three Gifts

 

I have three gifts in recent days received.

The first was, to all eyes but mine, a book:

But this to me means wonder, and strange luck,

And words from which this stranger world is weaved.

 

Second, was a way of holding hands.

This means a firmer friendship, and yet, softer;

A gift which means both quietness, and laughter;

And closer is the touch which understands.

 

The third, I guess, was given with his eyes:

And even now, I know not what it means.

But given these three gifts, such sentiments

Must mean more than receiving can surmise.

 

I guess some gifts are more, er, mystical than others. 

The Tastes of Life

 

Living is an interpretive process. Some notions

Rest more easily, of an afternoon, balanced

With a teaspoon on the mindful edge of a saucer.

 

Others require contemplation, deduced

Through the evening, held in wide-rimmed glasses

Of deeper wines and intimate reflection.

 

The relish of all this is in the taste, no?

Some are acquired flavours, and these can

Question the palate as an apothegm.

 

Your tastes may differ to mine. I see no problem.

My advice, is to roll the argument upon the tongue,

Explore the nuance, and let its discourse flow.

The Kiss of Night

Drenched in night, and shipwrecked on the straits
Of dearest pains, I followed evening’s lights.
Its cold quietude, as brittle as a kiss;
So, with night’s kiss, your own kiss I retrace.

Losing a Friend

 

I can undertake, your taking yourself away:

Accustomed to the coldness, the lack-of-hand

Upon my knee; forgotten yesterday.

 

These differences between us still won’t lend

To thoughts that you no longer are a friend.

 

So taken away you are, to another bed.

This I undertake; but understand,

The sting is in your smile to him, instead.

 

There are times when losing a partner is rewarding, freeing, and generally for the best. THere are other times, however, where it is like losing a friendship. That is the sharpest of stings. 

Forgetting Us

 

The truth is, I didn’t like Us.

You kept on about it as though it was truly

Something, I don’t now – something.

I saw you, as in a mirror of myself

With the person you were

With your tasteful little coat

And your traditional little churchyard of teeth

And your clumsy cold hands

And I worried, at how similar We were.

 

I feared you already knew all about it.

Yet there you still were: there was Us,

In spite of ourselves

Ordering tickets for that show, or this train journey

For you and me, and for You and Me

And saying how much you dislike Chardonnay

And I saw us a little way off from

The other side of the restaurant or

 

The other side of the street and I said

I have to be honest with you,

Even if I can’t be honest to myself, or Us…

And I let your cold, clumsy hand fall away;

And, you know, after the initial coldness

 

I rather liked that about Us.

 

 

Isn’t it great, when you can finally walk away from an absolutely awful relationship? It is always awkward to get the ball rolling – but then, looking back, you think: Sod him.