Song for Lost Olivia



By Elliot C. Mason
- 3672 reads
and the silent song of the singers with no strings
and the snow coming in sideways against the trees
and sleepless children waiting for what Santa brings
and tired stoned hitch-hikers surfing H.G.V.s
looking for somewhere to go and get there soon
and far far away, the long lonely sea
drawing in the rivers, following the moon
and the beasts below, and the beasts above, every fish and flee
and old precious buildings sinking into the mud
and the puddles that soak the new suede shoes
and the hungry builders eating baked beans and baked spud
and the newsagent waiting to hear the latest news
and the night sky and the blue light
and the taste of wine and the grass and the dew
and lips stained purple and the voices soft and slight
and the lights of the town and me -
we all miss you
and the paint on the houses and the window frames
and the girls on the corner, smoking cigarettes
and the owls howling through the midnight games
and the men in the cafés placing bets
and the sad tears pouring from the black-suited mourners
and the rats squealing in the squalor beneath
and the bus drivers turning sharp corners
and the fighter looking in the gutter for his teeth
and way out of town, passed the houses, passed the hordes
foxes hanging around, gobbling up toads
and the rich esquires, up on horses, holding swords
and the peasants moving on, carrying their loads
and the battered coast, falling cliffs
and hikers hiking to the edge for the view
and pious Sunday walkers on the grass, telling myths
and the ladybirds in the trees and me -
we all miss you
and twenty-two footballers in the park shouting names
and the Friday drinkers getting loose, drinking fast
and the hundred juggling hippies throwing twirling flames
and old bald men lying still, thinking of the past
and wasted ruined old film stars holding champagne flutes
hanging on their stalls, clutching bills, big cigars
and the ladies of the night, sipping gin in shiny boots
and the black shirts of the workers in the smoky crowded bars
and the wind greeting the trees on top of the hill
and the satellites dancing in endless vacuous space
and wide-eyed teens in the forest gobbling pills
and the sweating runners training for a race
and the lights left on in the tower blocks
and the empty spaces where a forest once grew
and the crabs nestling away for the night in the rocks
and every second there ever was and me -
we all miss you
and the books at an angle on the library shelves
and the fingers all tangled at the old people's ward
and the mystic witch-doctors praying for elves
and the soldiers retreating, maimed and gored
and the jackets earning dust at the charity shop
and the children at the gates, tying their laces
and the maids walking slow with brooms and mops
and the dancing angel with fifteen faces
and the cars in the mud, stuck and sorry
and the elephants in the plains, and the kings
floating through the crowd in a hurry
and the birds near the water with static wings
and the aching in the hearts and the chests
and the hundred million men in hats in the queue
and the lovers on the balconies looking west
and love and loss and tears and laughter and time and me -
we all miss you.
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Comments
This is just beautiful. It
This is just beautiful. It stopped me in my tracks
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Wonderful. So natural and
Wonderful. So natural and true. I love the detail and the images in this piece and the way that it flows. Touches the spirit.
Parson Thru
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Blown away, how do you even
Blown away, how do you even begin to find words for loss? Like this.
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Everything and nothing.
Everything and nothing.
So much to consider and to lose.
Lindy
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Beautifully written...the
Beautifully written...the last two lines catch in the throat.
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Beautiful poem. Lovely
Beautiful poem. Lovely imagery.
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What a stunningly beautiful
What a stunningly beautiful poem
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This is our Facebook and
This is our Facebook and Twitter Pick of the Day!
Get a great reading recommendation every day
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very beautiful and abundantly
very beautiful and abundantly human
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One of the best expressions
One of the best expressions of loss I have read. When you grieve, it is inconceivable that the rest of the world does not grieve with you. This is beautiful.
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and this is beautiful. what
and this is beautiful. what an incredible poem.
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All the things you cannot see!
I see everything except the thing I want to see most...and life goes carelessly on, regardless.
I love this; I love the pain, frustration, longing, (anger?)
At least, that's how I read it and if I'm wrong, I don't care - it works! It's amazing how clear every aspect of life becomes, when you're wishing someone else could be there to see it too...but can't.
Anyway, to reiterate, I loved it! All plaudits and awards well deserved
Chris :)
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sadness in the knowing, and
sadness in the knowing, and the glowing reviews all but wind. heart felt and it shows.
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