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
smiles
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
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."
ReplyDelete500 posts in two years is an impressive achievment. Here's to 500 more.
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.
ReplyDeleteBest of bardic,
Gwilym
I like this poem. It has a simplicity yet a complexity, that makes me read it over and over.
ReplyDeleteMay the Poet continue in Residence for many more years.
Many thanks Gordon, PiR will strive to keep at it.
ReplyDeleteBest
Gwilym