CHRISTINE ANN CLATWORTHY

................................................................................................

The Poetry Of...
Christine Ann................................................................
Clatworthy.................................................................

As time goes by

Time would heal
that's what they said -
would smooth out the dent
in the pillow
where you slept
your head
next to mine.

Given time
they told me -
even find
I'd stop waiting
to hear
your key in the door

or your voice
to say 'Hi'
and I wouldn't cry
every time
I saw 'Casablanca'.

One day
eventually -
clothes you wore
might stop smelling of you
so shut tight
the wardrobe door.

Bogart and Beethoven
always your passion
and you were mine.

In my head
still hear you playing
piano
run my hands
'cross the keys
just the way you did -
you made it look
so easy.

Guess you've played
it for me
but as time goes by...
will you play it for him now
Samantha?

Justifiable Suicide

Which of us, in honesty,
can admit that we're au fait
with the vagaries,
the mysteries,
the portals of the mind?

And yet, I'd be obliged -
if someone could enlighten me,
why 'lemmings',
surreptitiously,
leapt quietly into mine -

near legendary creatures,
such furry, cuddly animals,
that scurry in their hundreds
inanely, insanely
to commit mass suicide.

Not so,
you may argue,
they do it for a reason
like dire overcrowding,
lack of sheltered housing -
be it fire, flood or famine .
or incitement to treason.

Lemmings self-destruct -
much like some of us
when push
comes to shove.

Synchronicity

Turned up the collar of my coat as I strolled on Gypsy Lane -
every night, come rain or shine, took the dog for a walk
round half-past nine.

Mist hung low in the air, as I stopped by a house - cupped my ear.
Candlelight flickered as I glanced inside - stood and listened
to the sound of a piano.

Through an open window saw her sitting there -
as she'd often be, lace curtain gently wafting in the cool night air,
her auburn hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

Lingers still - the flicker of a smile that flirted with her lips
as she glanced, unashamedly my way and the tune she played -
a Gymnopidie by Satie.

Strange what you remember, things that stick in your mind
when you're 17 . the colour of her eyes and the 17 buttons
on her pale-pink chemise.

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