entangled

 NEW or featured

  Garassa

  The Lens of God
 

                    the heft and the edge                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     2141414/9/2017 wkj fantasy
 

 

 

 

 

    CONTACT
    @wilfkell
    wilf@wilfkelleherjones.co.uk
   

 

            VERSE                                          entangled

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     

    Solsiden Bridge

    Scarves of alien colour frame
    the entreaty of a face,
    eyes dark quizzical, fresh skin smooth,
    so far unconquered by her trade,
    she occupies the highest point.

    Crouched tight for warmth and effect
    on this bitter Trondheim day,
    what does she think
    of the parade of giants pounding by?
    Each too tall to bend our necks we
    proprietors find refuge in whatever lies ahead.
    With accusations of neglect
    we buy our measured pace,
    negotiate safe passage.

    Her plastic cup is empty
    even when full of coin:
    a daughter, wife, a chattel she
    pays duty every day.

    Oh she will not move with the accordion trill,
    nor smile as down on the quay
    fingers prod and squeeze and goad
    giants to break their pace
    and dance with a different tune.

    No matter the wandering melodies,
    and histories of love,
    his unbroken rhythm marks the time
    in the music of her life.


     

     

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Note - Solsiden pron:
                            Sol - seed -en

kim joar altered - flickr

     

     

    Song for a Distant Love

    Will you let me love you from afar?
    And will you let me live my life
    As one who'll pledge, for your regard,
    To ever soften in your gaze?
    And offer days of laughter, when
    And where we meet,
    You'll link my arm and kiss my cheek;
    My jealous lips, too shy to speak,
    Will tell you tales and sing you songs
    To make you smile,
    And all the while my guarded words
    Desire release.
    They are not free, I am not free:
    One love cannot another still,
    No pledge should e'er be broken.
    Must that deny the truth, distant love,
    That though I'll never hold you close,
    I'll ever hold you dear?
    Must that deny a constant love
    That longs to hold you ever close
    But cannot hold you near?
     

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    DRINK STUPID

     

    Martini dragged me through the early hours,
    A double gin and just one more
    Sank me deeper in the night.
    The Schubert strings were sad enough
    To match the sorry state I'm in,
    And all for feelings un-requite!
    Ha!
    She likes me well enough I know:
    She'll share a meal, and share a laugh,
    But when we're done, it's time to go,
    All tender hopes are put to flight.

    So much chat, so much drivel
    Keep unsaid three simple words,
    She must have thought me mad or tight.
    I drove in circles, lost my way,
    To keep her minutes more
    A reach away, a touch away,
    In my car, to bless my sight.
    But I could never find a door
    That opened would reveal my heart;
    She quickly left me to my dreams,
    A friendly peck to say goodnight
    My only joy:
    My only joy before the gin,
    With grinning strength,
    Drowned me deeper in my cups,
    Sank me deeper in the night.

     

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    Poetry's the Pits

     

    Life's a bitch
    Emotion's worse
    And poetry's the pits.
    It's full of thees
    And full of thous
    And never talks about the writs
    Or those decrees
    That finalize
    But make no mention of the loot
    To be divided
    When you're parted:
    Nisi and then Absolute.
    No, poetry's
    About the thrill,
    The urge, the tears, the clamour;
    It serves to aid
    The charm of love
    And emphasize the glamour.

     

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      Sharing

       

      They’re sharing a fag.

      A cuddle, a kiss;

      She’s on a break,

      He’s never remiss:

      His shift now over,

      There’s work to be done

      To keep his love loving,

      And keep their love fun.

       

      They work on the run

      To scratch up a living,

      So much to be done

      Before their day’s over:

      A cuddle, a kiss

      To keep them awake,

      Then a breathful of bliss

      In sharing a fag.

       

      © wilf jones 2014