The Poetry Of.
Kenneth Widmerpool...................
Assbergers
She who was my at one time my mermaid
Grieves now for an unmatched love
Alone in her far flat country.
She writes of dreams and disappointments
Whose nature I know well
And sends me the poems
Of the kind with which I am familiar
Of love enduring not returned.
Ah, who knows the moments one remembers
And now her shining eyes and gentle smile
And silken hair and early wisdom
Earn her only deep despair
Who among us could imagine that
Her magic would not win what love she wished.
It is unnatural. It is wicked.
It is yet another great mistake
Of so many committed by this careless god.
Although I Often Made Her Laugh
Although I often made her laugh
And did so many of the little things
Her parting tears were not for me
And all my virtues have lost meaning
And are beside the point
As is the fog on the pond
And the wind blown whitecaps at the sea
As are those real or unreal moments on the train
The morning drives
Light touches and
The sweet lies that we told to one another
Vanishing
I am out of the pond
And off the train
High and dry and at my destination
She has given me a final silent winter
Her image rubs away from narrow streets
Where we once walked. Together.
I do not think that she will come again
I do not wish that she will come again
If so I wish to be not here
Who knows what terrors
One touch
Or one smile
Might unleash
Once more
