The Walk The Sunday Whirl #193

He was my favourite writer, except for Zola, of course.
I loved the way he sang so sweet about Texas, graffiti and Fogtown.
I could feel the frost upon him as he sang about Anchorage.
And I swear I’d have married him,
yet I strayed,

I wanted to kiss the concrete he walked on.

When I painted my toenails under a tree,
He’d climb it, to play a mandolin,
pale chords lost to me,
and I can tell you this: I began to envy him,
so I gave him my death kiss.

There wasn’t a reason except I was jealous — reason enough for me.
And in my holiness, I dug a hole
in my basement, and sang of Italy.

Now, multi-coloured lights send a sigh
through me, soul’s sadness — a scar.
Days are smiles: a circular dance that laughs.
Nights are tears: diamonds that glisten.
In rearview silence I look back.


10 responses to “The Walk The Sunday Whirl #193

  1. Superb poem of regret. It all sounds like it happeneda long time ago and you are musing about your history. The echo of Captain Corelli is powerful.

  2. Happy holidays, dear Viv. I have been an absentee. Thanks and yes, it all seems so long ago. ox

  3. Beautiful … really beautiful.

  4. Bittersweet and beautiful. What might have been, and what can never be.

  5. What a walk Pamela…if there was such a thing as perfection in poetry I think you have achieved it here..every image and step and feeling so captivating and alive..all my best wishes to you

  6. Nights are tears: diamonds that glisten.
    In rear view silence I look back

    Reflecting back of what it was and what could have been otherwise!.One could only sigh in silence! Great lines Pamelita!


  7. Some melancholia here and I love it. Last stanza just brilliant! ~ Happy New year!

  8. Simply delightful – what more can I say? Except of course, Happy New Year!

  9. I enjoyed this very much.

I appreciate all comments.

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