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s y kalindara Feb 2020
Take me back to Abington Street,
the first place you ever saw me.
I'd care to meet you again,
in that peach dress,
on a Wednesday singing of serendipity.

Take me back to Whitworth Road,
my forgotten home, our modern haven,
where we danced around the garden and kitchen,
for the moon's eyes, under fairy lights.

Take me back to The White Elephant,
and feeling elegant in my blue dress.
Matching strides and laughter in the air,
you stopped to pick a scarlet rose
and pinned it to my hair.

Take me back to The Racecourse,
and spilling secrets in the dark,
fireworks interrupting this trance in the park.
Remember how I laughed and asked if this was real?
And you heartened me with a "yes, it's not a dream or a movie scene."

Take me back to Avenue Library,
to the kisses behind bookshelves
and the whispers of poetry.

Take me back to Canons Ashby Road,
when black cabs past midnight
carried me back to your home.
That little house with the picket fence,
snowing in albums and childhood innocence.

Take me back to The Wedgwood,
to drinking cokes and playing pool,
our eyes meeting in every room.

Take me back to that black leather couch,
where I memorised the shape of your mouth.

Take me back to the cradle of your arms and your broken bed,
I've never felt comfort anywhere else.

Take me back to Abington Street,
the last place you ever saw me.

Copyright © 2020 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
Okay this is the last poem I'm writing about J ****. What can I say folks, I miss him.
Ilya Krivonosov Mar 2019
It would be doubtful and indecent
Drive pigeons along the boulevards of the capital.
Much nicer on weekends.
To drive along the boulevards of Moscow business.

Even more noble and relevant
Chasing parrots in the living room and bedroom.
And it will be much quieter
Don't croak a hoarse crow.

Quite non-self-critical
Consider yourself a rare bird.
Bring it back, please.,
In Estonia a white stork.
EP Robles Sep 2018
I followed a
feather |
       to the ground
along the twist
       | path |

I found a penny
which held no thoughts
together the feather
and copper bone
fell upon an anvil
cloud of striking stone!

:: 08-05-2014 ::
life is movement and situations are like gravity; sometimes somethings somewhere seem misplaced but then there we are --> right HERE.

— The End —