‘My husband beats me,’ she murmured,
eyes downcast, to Bill in reply to his praise
of her gentle beauty. Perhaps she thought
to reject an advance? I never saw a mark
on her delicate face, nor a bruise
on her dainty arm, and she didn’t move
like one with hidden injuries; she was lithe.
Nor did she, later, reject his advances.
I wasn’t with him on that trip. But I knew.
Cross-posted to my poetry blog The Passionate Crone, where it now also forms part of my 'Remembering Bali' series.
[Poem #89]
This began as a game some bloggers played in 2008, to write about people who'd made an impact, in the same number of words as one's age, every day for a year. I did them less often and went on longer, adding one word each birthday. I stopped in 2016 and incorporated them into my main poetry blog. In 2019 I resumed the project and gave it its own blog again, with a new name, where it may unfold at its own (slow, intermittent, lapsing and resuming) pace. I've labelled these verse portraits, but they're more like quick sketches: mere glimpses, impressions....
Showing posts with label ENEMIES. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ENEMIES. Show all posts
Sunday, 5 December 2010
Monday, 27 July 2009
'Marijuana in the Mail'
Hates the press for this headline
and publishing her name:
'BASTARDS!'
Always felt above the law.
Stoned at the time, or drunk?
Pleaded guilty anyway
for trying to post it –
to Edinburgh.
'Don’t they have dope
in Scotland?' someone said.
She can’t stay free
by pleading the need
of her brain-damaged son.
He’s 18 now, and smart enough.
She does a runner,
leaving him home alone.
Oh, stay away!
[Poem #79]
and publishing her name:
'BASTARDS!'
Always felt above the law.
Stoned at the time, or drunk?
Pleaded guilty anyway
for trying to post it –
to Edinburgh.
'Don’t they have dope
in Scotland?' someone said.
She can’t stay free
by pleading the need
of her brain-damaged son.
He’s 18 now, and smart enough.
She does a runner,
leaving him home alone.
Oh, stay away!
[Poem #79]
Friday, 31 October 2008
Twice Bitten
You have gone
into the dreams of night.
On Halloween I read
your message of goodbye.
Last time you left
no message.
My silly heart broke.
This time, scrupulous,
you kept your promise:
no more unexplained
vanishing tricks.
You told me my fault
and only then
cut all contact.
This time it hurts less.
Although I forgave
I never went so deep again.
What you had done once….
[Poem #61]
into the dreams of night.
On Halloween I read
your message of goodbye.
Last time you left
no message.
My silly heart broke.
This time, scrupulous,
you kept your promise:
no more unexplained
vanishing tricks.
You told me my fault
and only then
cut all contact.
This time it hurts less.
Although I forgave
I never went so deep again.
What you had done once….
[Poem #61]
Sunday, 10 August 2008
The Demon Benefactor
Sent an introductory
photo: himself glaring
all in black. Was he
threatening or fondling
the naked woman pinioned
by the weight of his arm?
'Bizarre,' I thought, but he
was a man of the world.
I acted cool. Then
he was charming.
Seduced by promises –
wealth, glory –
I took the bribe;
wanted it badly.
He delivered …
something. But the price!
I’d have paid evermore
boot-licking,
chastised.
No thanks.
[Poem #42]
photo: himself glaring
all in black. Was he
threatening or fondling
the naked woman pinioned
by the weight of his arm?
'Bizarre,' I thought, but he
was a man of the world.
I acted cool. Then
he was charming.
Seduced by promises –
wealth, glory –
I took the bribe;
wanted it badly.
He delivered …
something. But the price!
I’d have paid evermore
boot-licking,
chastised.
No thanks.
[Poem #42]
Tuesday, 22 July 2008
Enemy
Once friend.
We were a threesome,
kindred poets.
The Three Musketeers
had nothing on us.
Wine and talk
in your flat,
she and I escaping
children, husbands, pets.
Wicked laughter, gossip
and literary theory.
Then you found cause
to sneer at me,
when the Human
Potential Movement
got me too.
Our third Musketeer
I lost; she
found me again.
Your poisoned words
failed to destroy.
[Poem #24]
We were a threesome,
kindred poets.
The Three Musketeers
had nothing on us.
Wine and talk
in your flat,
she and I escaping
children, husbands, pets.
Wicked laughter, gossip
and literary theory.
Then you found cause
to sneer at me,
when the Human
Potential Movement
got me too.
Our third Musketeer
I lost; she
found me again.
Your poisoned words
failed to destroy.
[Poem #24]
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