The Tireless Days

Those were the tireless days,
the freewheeling, poker dealing days,
spinning the wheel, her lady luck ways
tucking happiness up beneath a brim,
jaunty, sailing upstream,
screaming on the inclines.

Walking on the sands, strands of hair
floating as she swam in the seas,
her strokes sure, her breathing unlaboured,
her pasta making days, laying ribbons
out to dry on makeshift clothes dryers,
her basil and pine nut times,
and snips of wild thyme growing wild.

Her happy contagious ways of
staying ghosts and balancing on handlebars,
tops down and driving cars along the coast
a ghost of a scarf trailing behind,
her music toe tapping times, lines
sketched in the dust describing scores
while sitting on the hallowed steps
blowing smoke rings, and winding watches,
always late, sometimes early, never quite arriving.

Those were the exhilaration years,
the pent up fears, free flowing tears,
on pretty cheeks, unblemished years,
sliding down the bannister rail,
the songs of whales and brahmin tales
mediation, meditating, ruminating on woes,
the sky filled highs, and doldrum depths

How did it happen, where did it go?
Watching erstwhile wings flutter,
up there in the worlds, watching clouds go by,
the ebb and flow, slower now,
each step sliding on the polished floors,
who wrote the score, who sang the song?
waiting for the inevitable, wondering how long.




Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 332 times
Written on 2020-11-22 at 08:44

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An excellence that seems effortless. The way you concretise nostalgia, make those bygone days vivid and specific and alive to the reader. A joy to read!
2020-11-23


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
This is wonderfully tenderly written Elle. I found myself completely immersed in this recitation of a life well spent by a woman quietly and fully content with its denouement.
2020-11-22