................................................................................................
The Poetry Of...
Christine Ann......................................
Clatworthy.......................................
Autumn Blues
Sweet bird of youth -
when did you fly away
desert my withered garden?
Desolate hangs the willow -
sheds its yellow leaves as the breeze
blows fluffy, puff-ball seeds
in through my window,
as I gaze through cracked and misted pane,
to float on stale and stagnant air -
along the chipped
and wormy wainscot
then lodge behind the rocking chair
that sits forever still.
Will I ever see you again,
and shall you ever call my name
however feint, from another garden
where verdant grows the celandine,
to fly again in warmer climes
where rimy-frost won't coat
the Monday washing-lines.
Air-kisses
Think
they almost own me
for it's true
they do know me
intimately
the tilt of my chin
my skin
each blemish
each mark
the mole on my thigh
the line of my nose
the concave curve of my hips
perfect bow of my lips
when I kiss
the air
and pretend
it's for them
as they stare
at the glossy magazines
get me down from the shelf
take me home
lie on their beds
fill their heads
with thoughts
of what they would do
given half the chance
fat chance
raunchy poses
supposing
I'm feeling horny
just goes to show
how wrong
they can be
pin me up on their walls
or their tinny locker-doors
jerk off
as they dream
their lurid dreams
have perverse
pathetic fantasies
while I smile
with eyes
that despise
them all
and lips that defy
the camera never lies.
The Sheep, a Man and his Dog
Your glass of wine stands untouched
so does mine -
because you didn't come
the candle burned down,
wept wax on my best linen cloth.
It doesn't matter -
the only thing that does, is you're not here.
Don't even mind that the meal I cooked
was burnt
to a frazzle
or the hassle
to make a soufflé so it rose
to meet you
at the crucial time -
when you said you'd drop by.
Just a card would have been so very nice
but I've still got last year's. Now let me see,
it's in the drawer somewhere -
yes - here it is,
the one with the sheep
and the man with his dog -
I'll pop it back down on the mantelpiece.
Guess there's always next time -
that's if I'm still alive,
can just see you laugh when I say that,
in reality though - I'll be turned eighty-one!
Do you know - think I might have a drop of that wine,
can't see it go to waste.
So cheers then, here's to you, my dearest son.
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