As it so transpired, of the two of them, it was she
left on their own to think fondly on the other;
a conundrum they would often debate.
.
She always said she’d be the first to go, but
he’d gone and proved her wrong. Cantankerous
as he’d become in his old age. He was indeed
the fortunate one, or so she considered.
Straw hat tilted to shade her eyes,
in the shadow of the vine-covered veranda,
she sits – glass in hand, bottle at her side.
His chair mocked her with its stillness
and with her foot she gently rocked it.
Nice to hear that squeak again, as it swung
back and forth. He was always going to oil it ...
but she was glad he never did.
Yellowing leaves, once, pistachio-green,
hang on to the end – reluctant to fall
in the breathless air, as marron-rouge grapes
over-ripen in the late September heat.
Scavenging wasps tirelessly compete
for a share of the feast –
a harvest long-since ever reaped.
Bottle to lips – downs the dregs of the wine.
Smoky-pink tamarisk wafts and weaves
in a sudden breeze; straw hat tumbles,
flutters to the ground.
No sound, except the shriek of swifts, diving low
and the high-pitched whine of mosquitoes
as they jive and jostle for a coveted space
beneath the corrugated roof.
She drifts to sleep and dreams
of those heady, bygone afternoons
when he’d carry her to bed – drunk
on love alone.
Stems pendulously hang – burdened
with their unclaimed booty and only blackbirds
hear a sigh as the final grape is tasted
and the vines lift aching, twisted limbs that reach
to gently soothe a bruised St. Martin’s summer’s sky.
Comments
artisus | April 24, 2009 - 11:36
one of your best Tina. a very difficult poem to write, excellent writing throughout.
Silver Spun Sand | April 24, 2009 - 11:43
My thanks to you, artisus. I have worked on this one long and hard for quite some time and your words are more than reward.
Tina:-)
SteveM | April 24, 2009 - 11:50
This one is so good to visualise... 'Scavenging wasps tirelessly compete...' A marvellous snapshot.
Steve
threeleafshamrock | April 24, 2009 - 11:57
Brilliant Tina, there is so much in this that it is hard to pick any particular piece but I Love;
His chair mocked her with its stillness
and with her foot she gently rocked it.
Nice to hear that squeak again, as it swung
back and forth. He was always going to oil it ...
but she was glad he never did.
Kind of wraps up the sentiment for me. I agree with artisus; one of your best!
Chris XX
chuck | April 24, 2009 - 13:01
Beautiful poem SSS. So much feeling and the words match the mood perfectly.
Silver Spun Sand | April 24, 2009 - 14:35
Steve - thanks for that:-) Actually I dislike wasps intensely. We always have about four or five nests in the garden right near our back door. Pesky things:-)
Tina
Silver Spun Sand | April 24, 2009 - 14:40
Good to know you liked it, Chris. Thanks.
I guess the particular stanza you liked was easy for me to write. My other half is always going around the house saying, 'Oh, yes. Bit equeaky that. Needs a drop of '3-IN-ONE' on it, when I get around to it ... but he never does!
Tina xx
Silver Spun Sand | April 24, 2009 - 14:41
Pleased you thought so, Chuck. Many thanks:-)
SSS
Nathan Bednarek | April 24, 2009 - 14:41
Phew! This must have taken you a while ;-)
A brilliant poem with some amazing imagery, but I think what makes this poem so effective is the use of sound. The poem plays a gentile melody, as if the notes were shy, but it comes through, so balanced and yet overpowering.
You have shown a tremendous amount of skill in this poem and for that I applaud you dear Tina ;-)
I agree with the others - definitely one of your best. Well done.
Nathan.
Silver Spun Sand | April 24, 2009 - 15:01
Nathan, you have put a sunny smile on my face and for that I thank you:-)
Tina x
sarah wilson | April 24, 2009 - 15:42
Beautiful poem - I felt it.
Sarah
MistakenMagic | April 24, 2009 - 15:52
Oh this is beautiful Tina! Well done on a very well-deserved cherry! Some excellent imagery here and use of colour;
'His chair mocked her with its stillness
and with her foot she gently rocked it.'
and
'Smoky-pink tamarisk wafts and weaves
in a sudden breeze; straw hat tumbles,
flutters to the ground'
Love the atmosphere of the whole thing too ;)
Magic xxx
Silver Spun Sand | April 25, 2009 - 21:59
Sarah - I value your words. Thank you for them.
Tina
Silver Spun Sand | April 25, 2009 - 22:04
Atmosphere, atmosphere, atmosphere. An amazing word. Intangible and yet sometimes, it is so real we feel we can touch it. Maybe sometimes we can ... if we're Magic;-)
Tina xxx
Dynamaso | April 27, 2009 - 00:28
This is very evocative, melancholic and beautifully constructed. Loved it...
Silver Spun Sand | April 27, 2009 - 09:01
Your comments very much appreciated. Thank you;-)
Tina