DEBORAH REY

The Poetry Of..
Deborah Rey................................................................

Waiting

White blossom on the pear trees
has turned to petal snow and
the buzzing music of the bees
has stopped, but will go on
in peach and apple trees.

Birds chase one another
in kamikaze love play,
and have signed the leases
of all the nesting blocks
and hidden nooks.

The DingoDog and Bardd Blewyn
proudly mark a brand-new tree
each day,
hoping still to mark them all
before the Summer.

The music of the Ocean
is calming down
to a pianissimo
of waves, and no longer
roars crescendo tides.

I stand in awe and, while
looking up to the blue,
blue sky, I listen for the sound
of velvet hooves.
I'm waiting for a Unicorn

Cat On A Roof

The rumbling in the background
should have prepared me for a
thunderstorm, perhaps the strike
of lightning.
It didn't and I never expected
the attack coming from the back,
never expected to be tipped over
when I was incapable to
get up by myself.
I never expected to be declared
a monster; harassing each and
everyone, speaking with
daggers instead of words...
No, no, not as of late, but all
through the many years I see
when I turn my head and
quietly look back.
Ever since, I hold my mouth,
do not approach a soul, not
even those close, no, closest
to my heart.
I think and think and try to
make sense of what I'm told,
try to understand, see, hear
myself hold forth with venom
and without any reason. I
really don't know where to look
or where I'll find the answer.
I'm a cat on a hot tin roof.

Then I Will Be Old

The day that I stop
wearing jeans
and flower power skirts,
the day I do no longer put
some make-up on my eyes,
and see my man go soft inside,
or look at me with love
and a sparkle in his eyes,
the day I won't feel
like seducing him,
no matter where, or when,
the day I will stop
saying, Hell! and switch to,
Oh, Good Heavens!
or call somebody nasty,
and not a bloody shit,
the day, I will no longer try
to make a straight-faced waiter crack,
and give me a haemorrhoid smile
(which must be painful
on his poor, immobile facial skin),
the day, I will stop taking in
just any straying cat, or dog,
animal or human,
and talk to flowers,
the day, I'll think it silly
for someone ... uh ... 'my age'
to play the Harry Potter games
on my PC and swear
at Voldemort and Malfoy
in duet with my grandson,
or proudly show him
how I can make wheelies
in my wheelchair,
the day I will have learned
to keep my big mouth shut,
stop fighting bigotry,
injustice, hatred, racism,
the day I will believe in G-d,
because I'm afraid to die,
and to secure my destination
in the beyond,
then ... damn it,
on that day,
I will be old.

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