‘May I have the pleasure?’ asks this debonair
young man. “I’d be delighted!” I reply.
His face appears familiar. Reminds me of my Jack,
killed in action on the Somme - September, 1916.
He takes me in his arms – the waltz begins;
‘The Beautiful Blue Danube’ – mirrored in his eyes.
Such rhythm, such panache!
He sweeps me off my feet, literally.
The band strikes up a polka, then a foxtrot.
How adept he is. How well he takes the lead.
On the stroke of twelve, the band stops playing.
My head is spinning. I catch my breath.
He sees me home, farewell in every step, for as is said,
all good things have to end ... some time.
I get undressed. Take off my ball-gown – frothy pink;
a marshmallow affair, sewn with sequins.
He enquires, am I ready for my pills? I nod twice
for ‘Yes’, then he holds my hand, dims the light.
Life’s no fairy-tale and I’m no Cinderella, and yet
a mere heartbeat away, my golden coach awaits.
Comments
Nathan Bednarek | September 21, 2008 - 19:04
This is interesting. Quite different and yet the structure is neat and tidy. I love the last line, but my favourite one is:
'The band strikes up a polka, then a foxtrot.
How adept he is. How well he takes the lead.'
Well done.
Nathan.
MistakenMagic | September 21, 2008 - 20:32
I get undressed. Take off my ball-gown – frothy pink;
a marshmallow affair, sewn with sequins.
- My favourite lines :) Another touching poem Tina!
Silver Spun Sand | September 21, 2008 - 20:39
Magic - you are just that!!
They are my favourite lines too. Now, if you had ever watched 'Come Dancing' on TV,way back in the 70's and 80's you would have seen many dresses like that ... but don't tell me. That was way before your time. And mine, of course:-) I wish ...
Tina:-)
Silver Spun Sand | September 22, 2008 - 07:27
Hi there Nathan. As always, thank you so much for reading and sharing your thoughts.
Yes.The question of euthanasia is a deep one and is that what this poem is about or did the old lady pass quietly away in her sleep? Or maybe ...
I guess it's up to the reader to decide. I haven't the foggiest;-)
The famous 1890's song that I 'stole' the title from, was way before your time. Mine as well, I hasten to add, but it is beautiful.
"After the ball is over, after the break of morn,
After the dancers' leaving, after the stars are gone,
Many a heart is aching, if you could read them all—
Many the hopes that have vanished, after the ball."
Charles K. Harris (1867-1930)
The "King Of The Tear Jerker" and one of Tin Pan Alley's pioneers
Tina
jennifer | September 22, 2008 - 09:26
I think that it's just the pills that she takes every day - is this two people grown old together, or is it her son? I'm not sure...
But I think the ambiguity makes poetry magical, doesn't it?
Magical writing, and melancholy...
Silver Spun Sand | September 22, 2008 - 17:34
As I saw it, jennifer, Jack was her husband. The person with her as she is dieing could be all in her mind, part of her hallucination or dream (whichever one chooses to call it) or he could be real, ie a doctor or a nurse, perhaps. But that is the wonderful thing about writing (poetry especially) it can mean all things to all people.
Much appreciate your reading and for your interpretation. As you say, ambiguity is what makes poetry magical.
Tina