which is not a song
or create double barrelled rainbows
that shine any brighter,
I can only pluck the melody
and send it flying through
following vapour trails
and the stain of snail trails
on black blazers
and the trusting gaze
of a small boy
who proudly announced
that I was his maman
and held my hand
and sang duets with me.
The little boy
who cried copiously
as high jinks caused him trouble
which wasn't nearly as bad as he thought.
the cape and scarf,
the silly cards
and the falling out of bed
or the kisses and belly laughs.
I can't sing this song
without the accompanimnent
the drums and the sax
that silly recorder, my flute
balancing on my lips
my fingers on those ivory keys
and a seat made for two
or even three or four.
The apartment in Rome
taken for the opera season,
leant, too small, too tight
and exuberant boy fights.
I can't hum this melody
without the twinkling tone
the pitfalls of giggles
and a scuba dive with bubbles.
I miss the mirth and merriment
although it is still there in parts,
like left over guitar picks
found in obscure parts
and pages from piano books.
It is in the smell of old trainers
and doors never shut
and shoes that lurk
determined to trip,
this trip, our journey of songs
the ones we wrote
and the ones we didn't.
Have joy, have peace
I can't sing this song
alone anymore
Poetry by Elle
Read 881 times
Written on 2015-12-31 at 20:03
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This Song
I can't sing this song any louder,or create double barrelled rainbows
that shine any brighter,
I can only pluck the melody
and send it flying through
following vapour trails
and the stain of snail trails
on black blazers
and the trusting gaze
of a small boy
who proudly announced
that I was his maman
and held my hand
and sang duets with me.
The little boy
who cried copiously
as high jinks caused him trouble
which wasn't nearly as bad as he thought.
the cape and scarf,
the silly cards
and the falling out of bed
or the kisses and belly laughs.
I can't sing this song
without the accompanimnent
the drums and the sax
that silly recorder, my flute
balancing on my lips
my fingers on those ivory keys
and a seat made for two
or even three or four.
The apartment in Rome
taken for the opera season,
leant, too small, too tight
and exuberant boy fights.
I can't hum this melody
without the twinkling tone
the pitfalls of giggles
and a scuba dive with bubbles.
I miss the mirth and merriment
although it is still there in parts,
like left over guitar picks
found in obscure parts
and pages from piano books.
It is in the smell of old trainers
and doors never shut
and shoes that lurk
determined to trip,
this trip, our journey of songs
the ones we wrote
and the ones we didn't.
Have joy, have peace
I can't sing this song
alone anymore
Poetry by Elle
Read 881 times
Written on 2015-12-31 at 20:03
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Jamsbo Rockda |
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one trick pony |
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Chaucer Whethers |
| Texts |
 by Elle Latest textsTwo Little CatsHills Not the End Cinders Oh perfect Day |
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