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DBeardPoems
Mary was a poet; her words beautiful her grammar impeccable her grasp of the lexicon far beyond my simple ramblings Mary was a writer; her flow omnipresent her imagery transports the soul her understanding of the reader far beyond my comprehension Mary taught me how to express myself the meaning of a nom de plume; I didn't need to be just a boy with ideas above his station Mary was a 40-something woman previously married with grown up kids living on a Western Isle with a pet donkey called Samson For 20 years I walked with Mary's shadow she made me proud and kept our secrets safe I remember the poem she wrote about a coffee and a one night stand evoked images of two women in a passionate embrace; it won some award she never collected Mary had cheques for her published works filled a pencil case in a box in the attic her moments in the spotlight gathering dust citing Maya Angelou as her inspiration and Ben Okri as a man she'd like to cook for Mary inspired me; she was a writer and a poet don't you know taught me the meaning of a nom de plume sad was the day I laid her to rest buried with her cheques in the pencil case gathering dust in the attic This is her epitaph: wherever there is soul all is not lost, and what is not lost is never forgotten.
0
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 8:59 AM UTC
Mary's shadow
Mary was a poet; her words beautiful her grammar impeccable her grasp of the lexicon far beyond my simple ramblings Mary was a writer; her flow omnipresent her imagery transports the soul her understanding of the reader far beyond my comprehension Mary taught me how to express myself the meaning of a nom de plume; I didn't need to be just a boy with ideas above his station Mary was a 40-something woman previously married with grown up kids living on a Western Isle with a pet donkey called Samson For 20 years I walked with Mary's shadow she made me proud and kept our secrets safe I remember the poem she wrote about a coffee and a one night stand evoked images of two women in a passionate embrace; it won some award she never collected Mary had cheques for her published works filled a pencil case in a box in the attic her moments in the spotlight gathering dust citing Maya Angelou as her inspiration and Ben Okri as a man she'd like to cook for Mary inspired me; she was a writer and a poet don't you know taught me the meaning of a nom de plume sad was the day I laid her to rest buried with her cheques in the pencil case gathering dust in the attic This is her epitaph: wherever there is soul all is not lost, and what is not lost is never forgotten.
DBeard
Written by
DBeard
Scottish
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 8:59 AM UTC
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