Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Monday, 21 May 2012
At the start of the day
He stands as I have stood
Smoking a cigarette, discreetly
While he waits for his business colleagues
His gaze is over the golf course
More distant; his thoughts sweetly
Take him back to the Paris of his youth
She was a dancer; artistic and full of beauty
With a passion and desire that he so wished to fulfill
My own interior fulfillment had me by the Seine
Strolled me down the Champs Élysées
Toured me through the pyramid of the Louvre
I sipped coffee at a café in the Place de la Republic
Picked at a deep china bowl of Moules marinières
Posed, as though affluent, in Pierre's Bastille restaurant
Alone on the hotel balcony
I blew smoke into a starlit sky
I smiled at the memory of the Mona Lisa
His hair is black, with flecks of silver grey
She wore reds and golds, emeralds and pearls
His suit is black, his shoes also
She skipped and ran, she kissed and chased
We remember it well, he lost his virginity
She tore it away, with the vengeance of age
We are uncertain of the immediate future
Her certainty was, with the immediacy of youth
a poem from the collection Into the Present Decade - Love with Droplets of Joy available by clicking on the link