Thursday, 12 November 2009

Sunday interlude

Sunday interlude

There is a man
brown as bread

And a woman
black as olives

Or maybe white
as bones

Strolling in a garden
sitting in an arbour

And they are eating fresh fruit
from a bowl

Perhaps a terracotta bowl

And musing
on music
and how many children

The bread brown man
and the olive black woman
or maybe the bone white woman

Are wearing their Sunday best
in their eyes

The bread brown man is plucking the lyre
it is not a new song

The olive black or maybe bone white woman is plucking an eyebrow
she hums an old song

A little but wrong

gw 2009


  1. Happy Birthday Poet, and many happy returns of the day. The characterisation of these two, and the wide openness of the possibilities of what the woman is like are wonderful, as is the neat summary of "it is not a new song."
    500 posts in two years is an impressive achievment. Here's to 500 more.

  2. Thanks Mairi, one thing that inspired me to write this poem was reading the last 4 lines of your blue man poem. It's funny how the muse works.
    Best of bardic,

  3. I like this poem. It has a simplicity yet a complexity, that makes me read it over and over.

    May the Poet continue in Residence for many more years.

  4. Many thanks Gordon, PiR will strive to keep at it.


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