You make your impression
by being unknown —
unexpected, unidentified.
Your blog is set to private.
I had a student once
with your first name …
but, a respected poet now,
not likely secret or shy.
And there was a friend.
We shared a son
a long, long story.
His early death
drove us apart, our pain
in each other’s faces
too much to bear.
You will not be her?
[Poem #4]
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....
Thursday, 3 July 2008
Wednesday, 2 July 2008
Old Man Hitching
Rose from the side of the road
exceptionally tall and thin,
sudden scarecrow in the mirror
only better dressed.
Grey suit in a country summer.
Waving his stick for attention,
smiling like a child,
flopping awkwardly towards
the only car.
Might have waited ages.
(We were a bit off track.)
Going to town to shop
five miles; in eighty years
he’d never been further!
Said it proudly, gladly.
[Poem #3]
exceptionally tall and thin,
sudden scarecrow in the mirror
only better dressed.
Grey suit in a country summer.
Waving his stick for attention,
smiling like a child,
flopping awkwardly towards
the only car.
Might have waited ages.
(We were a bit off track.)
Going to town to shop
five miles; in eighty years
he’d never been further!
Said it proudly, gladly.
[Poem #3]
Tuesday, 1 July 2008
First Boyfriend
We eyed each other off a while
before you made your move.
Or was it I who invited you?
So long ago …
You came to my house.
When I heard the knock I couldn’t
walk straight up the corridor,
stumbled though I wanted to skip.
Our mothers chatted politely.
We ran outside to play.
It ended when you told me
you didn’t believe in fairies.
(We were five.)
[Poem #2]
before you made your move.
Or was it I who invited you?
So long ago …
You came to my house.
When I heard the knock I couldn’t
walk straight up the corridor,
stumbled though I wanted to skip.
Our mothers chatted politely.
We ran outside to play.
It ended when you told me
you didn’t believe in fairies.
(We were five.)
[Poem #2]
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