"elaine" poems
Oh, come again to Astolat!
I will not ask you to be kind.
And you may go when you will go,
And I will stay behind.
I will not say how dear you are,
Or ask you if you hold me dear,
Or trouble you with things for you
The way I did last year.
So still the orchard, Lancelot,
So very still the lake shall be,
You could not guess—though you should guess—
What is become of me.
So wide shall be the garden-walk,
The garden-seat so very wide,
You needs must think—if you should think—
The lily maid had died.
Save that, a little way away,
I’d watch you for a little while,
To see you speak, the way you speak,
And smile,—if you should smile.
5.3k
My old great-aunt Elaine with her withered hands gave me $200 and beaded handbag
"This your mad money," she told me, as we sat on that nursing home couch, "And it ain't for your purse. This goes in your shirt, where only you know you got it."
The assisted-living nurse chuckled to herself. They got along, my great-aunt and her.
"Why?"
"Cuz if you get angry," she said, in that Marlboro-raspy voice of hers, "And you gotta go, you walk out on your date and you leave 'is *** And then you got your money for a strong drink. And your cab."
The nurse laughed
My aunt re-situated herself on the nursing home couch. Elaine Dauterive. Her mind was going, and so was her health, but she was as regal as a queen on her throne in that moment
her fire-red hair, ungrayed, was her crown
No cape as royal as that sleeping gown.
"Don't you think for once second I can't take care of you, honey," she said in that creole drawl, and I knew what she meant
Because even after she'd gone I would have that mad money
All stuffed in my bra for when I needed it
Because she was older than time, for me, seeing things like
The Great Depression, World War II
What I read in history books
I'd be ****** if I took what she said with even one grain of salt because Auntie-Lane, I'll be ****** if I don't love you
And I know you're on your way out and
I'll buy you whiskey in the afterlife with some of that $200 cash that you busted your *** scrounging up for me
Southern hospitality at its finest
And those liver spots redder than wine adorn you like badges of honor for all of the years you've endured
My elder - creole woman, with a soul as fire-red as her hair, breathing more smoke than air
My old dragon
On a pile of gold: her mad money
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
Grand mamma always told me
Hold your head up proud
And never accept to blend in with the crowd-
Kinna strange the way
I'm parting rivers right now
And how if sitting silent
I'm truly speaking out loud
Long ago and swiftly
Juggling dozens of eggs
Though trying not to split 'em
I tripped up on some pegs
The yoke leaked out
Mixed with the blood
From my head
I didn't whimper yet I knew
My beauty was dead-
But that's how it grows
All you Elaine's and Ed's
Through brazen heat
And tempest sleet
Chewing on led
While inspires cry
And empires fry
That sandstone shifts
And driftwood drifts
Alone I merrily roam
With my for sure's and if's
Never dissuading
The hemispheres
Of my bliss
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
Elaine folds
and unfolds
a flowered
handkerchief
in her lap
in the bus
(the school bus)
her sister
beside her
talking to
her best friend
Elaine knows
the boy John
sits near by
she can see
him if she
leans over
the seat top
but she sits
where she is
feeling down
and depressed
she'll tell John
when she can
what they say
the others
Old Frumpy
they call her
her hand smooths
the flowered
handkerchief
in her lap
corners neat
edges straight
it is John's
handkerchief
he gave it
when she cried
the last time
it was clean
and unused
when he gave
smelt of soap
and fresh air
it absorbed
her wet tears
when held there
and John said
at that time
the kiss was
meant to show
what I feel
and she can
(if she sits
quietly)
feel it still
on her lips.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
Α♥Ω
GNOSIS, my friends, is alive and well,
corrupting the hearts of the masses.
They fashion a fable to fit their need until their crisis passes.
An idol from here and a text from there – just a little dabble do…
for a do-it-yourself epiphany as the counterfeit passes through.
They lose themselves in names and mantras,
thinking they’re mining gold –
while the god of this world enhances the shine of spiritual lies retold.
So get out your old Santana records, pass the **** to the left.
Listen to Jimi and Marley and worse; it will leave your soul bereft.
It’s the same old trip – the first century
has seen all of it come and go:
such transcendent explosions of heresy
are worth less than the price of the show.
In the local body of Iesous Moshiach our pastor has faithfully showed us:
nonsensical notions of Gnostic obnoxiousness
fail to enlighten – but load us
with half-truths and fantasies, cosmic conspiracies,
spiritually false revelation;
which turn on the blacklight and dazzle the mind
but maroon you in dark desolation.
So I’d like to prepare you for several short poems
exploring the way of the Gnostics.
Though I love Elaine Pagels and Demian‘s Hesse,
they fail to provide diagnostics…
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
The water
in the bath
is quite hot
and soapy
Elaine's mum
has run it
put in her
own bath stuff
Elaine lays
all stretched out
her feet at
the tap end
the water
soapy hot
caresses
her small *******
she hates them
and loves them
they tell her
she's growing
into a
young woman
her childhood
almost gone
they look like
small piglets
drowning there
she muses
she hates it
when at school
in P.E.
when the girls
point at her
look at those
small *******
they tell her
the boy John
whom she likes
at the school
doesn't look
or seem to
but maybe
he does gaze
secretly
she muses
and that thought
undoes her
he looking
mentally
he touching
each of them
how to get
such a thought
out of mind?
she sits up
in the bath
she'll ask him
if he does
when at school
the next day
but she won't
she knows it
but she'll watch
as he talks
of bird's eggs
or new seen
butterflies
where he looks
with his eyes
what beneath
her white blouse
and small bra
bunched up lies.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
~
irreverent place
on a laundry room shelf,
his is a figure serene.
source of comfort?
source of peace?
perhaps...
but oh, so much
more than that...
this is a crossroads
where absolution meets
the gritty mundane,
where he became
her source of familiarity.
*"good morning, Sweet Jesus,
i'm just here to wash
my ***** laundry."*
no sacrilege here,
no... nothing profane.
from the hand outstretched
held out for the taking
who is this really,
this chalk figurine?
in tranquility certain,
a doorway between
human fragility and
perfection divine.
in life’s messy journey
our ***** laundry aside
how could one not feel,
more rinsed of life's stains?
Sweet Jesus, of course
divine cleanser, unseen
now, here on my mantle
my house feels more clean!
~
*post script.
when a fellow treasure-hunter shared not only the story of "Sweet Jesus" (a hand painted, european, chalk sculpture of a early-last-century, bleeding-heart Christ who was the long-time occupant of her laundry room closet shelf), but also an offer to bring him out of the closet and sell him to me (yes, it's true... i bought him for a few pieces of silver), i jumped at the chance to bring him to my mantle and determined to construct a fitting poem as a way to say, "thank you, Elaine!” and to say unabashedly to anyone else, “i love my Sweet Jesus! you are out of the closet... forever!!”*
*no sacrilege whatsoever intended
i dearly hope you'll not be offended!*
:-) Steve
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC
Wind blows. Snow falls. The great clock in its tower
Ticks with reverberant coil and tolls the hour:
At the deep sudden stroke the pigeons fly . . .
The fine snow flutes the cracks between the flagstones.
We close our coats, and hurry, and search the sky.
We are like music, each voice of it pursuing
A golden separate dream, remote, persistent,
Climbing to fire, receding to hoarse despair.
What do you whisper, brother? What do you tell me? . . .
We pass each other, are lost, and do not care.
One mounts up to beauty, serenely singing,
Forgetful of the steps that cry behind him;
One drifts slowly down from a waking dream.
One, foreseeing, lingers forever unmoving . . .
Upward and downward, past him there, we stream.
One has death in his eyes: and walks more slowly.
Death, among jonquils, told him a freezing secret.
A cloud blows over his eyes, he ponders earth.
He sees in the world a forest of sunlit jonquils:
A slow black poison huddles beneath that mirth.
Death, from street to alley, from door to window,
Cries out his news,--of unplumbed worlds approaching,
Of a cloud of darkness soon to destroy the tower.
But why comes death,--he asks,--in a world so perfect?
Or why the minute's grey in the golden hour?
Music, a sudden glissando, sinister, troubled,
A drift of wind-torn petals, before him passes
Down jangled streets, and dies.
The bodies of old and young, of maimed and lovely,
Are slowly borne to earth, with a dirge of cries.
Down cobbled streets they come; down huddled stairways;
Through silent halls; through carven golden doorways;
From freezing rooms as bare as rock.
The curtains are closed across deserted windows.
Earth streams out of the shovel; the pebbles knock.
Mary, whose hands rejoiced to move in sunlight;
Silent Elaine; grave Anne, who sang so clearly;
Fugitive Helen, who loved and walked alone;
Miriam too soon dead, darkly remembered;
Childless Ruth, who sorrowed, but could not atone;
Jean, whose laughter flashed over depths of terror,
And Eloise, who desired to love but dared not;
Doris, who turned alone to the dark and cried,--
They are blown away like windflung chords of music,
They drift away; the sudden music has died.
And one, with death in his eyes, comes walking slowly
And sees the shadow of death in many faces,
And thinks the world is strange.
He desires immortal music and spring forever,
And beauty that knows no change.
1.6k
At times I sit
Back and relax
from the daily disappointment
of another failed attempt
to make a milli
out of 2 greenbacks
and a shiny penny
so money i lack
due to employers
not callin a brotha back
"dont worry Wayne"
"i dont care about that"
"im really feelin you"
"i got yo back"
her name was Elaine
beautiful black woman
skinned the finest brown
kept my head off the ground
facing up to the sky
with all the confidence
of a grown *** man
till the week my luck
ran out like
our well ran dry
i was victim of nonsence
moms got word that
i smashed in the backseat
snatched back the keys
havent seen ol' girl since
lookin up to ask
what more can happen
i recieve a call
that put me on my ***
my one thang from
around the way
was seen at the mall
hugged up wit women
i put the phone down
cause im mad as hell
turned to the liquor
tilted the bottle
maybe i can find
that hidden message
pour up the brown
so i can sip
till i cant tell
this ********
aint just in my mind
Courvoisier or Hennessy
Remy Martin too
when i find my
next one thang
the brown got my back
when im in the groove
kissing the lips
of that beautiful child
born of kings and queens
of kingdoms not crack
workin a 9 to 5
not depending on
the next coke move
relieving her stress
while breaking that back
blast off at 9
cause her love
might taste so divine
scratch me up
then we goin till 5
i know i wont
be that 60 second man
and let her down
cause the brown got my back
i figured out my problem
just gotta lay that
brown **** down
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 4:37 AM UTC
Elaine sat in class.
She'd seen John
on the bus, but he
had not looked over
at her, but gazed out
the window, sitting
beside the boy Trevor.
She looked back and
he was sitting at back
of class with a boy
called Rowland, he
looking at some book
the boy was showing him.
Once the pupils were
all there Miss G took
the register calling out
the names. Elaine wished
John was beside her at her
desk; wished he was talking
to her not the Rowland boy.
She sat uneasy, her body
plumpish, her glasses smeary
needing cleaning. Miss G
talked about music; about
Mozart; about his piano
works and put on a LP and
the pupils sat arms folded
or hands over faces listening
-or not- to the unfolding
Mozart music piece. Her sister
talked of boys over breakfast;
what so and so had done and
where and their mother had said
NOT AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE
loudly but did boys really sniff
after girls as her sister had said?
Elaine never heard John sniff her.
He had kissed her that day, but
not sniffed-thank God- and she looked
at Miss G as the music played away.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 2:59 AM UTC
For Beep & Sue Robinson, Foreman, Victoria Park Tunnel
Auntie Elaine Kingii
Died last night in her sleep,
Ninety years of age
Keeping secrets she would keep.
Last night she passed away
In her tiny single bed,
At the Onehunga rest home
Where she finally laid her head.
Auntie Elaine Kingii
Lived her long life on the street
Helping other vagrants
Find a kinder place to sleep,
Helping other street kids
With the hassles of their day,
Sharing a quick cigarette
Or a dryer place to stay.
Auntie Elaine Kingii
In her ninety years of life
Had eighteen babies born to her
From sailors , waifs and like.
Eighteen babies born to her
Beneath the Grafton bridge,
Each with unknown fathers
Or a family heritage.
Auntie Elaine Kingie
As a girl danced out of class
Where the morning sunshine sparkled
On the crystal dew, clad grass,
And her green eyes shone with lustre
In her joy of dancing free,
Whilst the street kids stood in cluster
Quite entranced by what they see.
Auntie Elaine Kingii
With her eyes of emerald green
Lived her days among the lost souls
Of the City Mission scene.
Life amongst free spirits
Was a chosen path for her
Shunning organised prosperity
With a structured raconteur.
Auntie Elaine Kingii
With her eyes of emerald glass
Chose to die the way she lived
Quite serenely with her class.
Happy with the company
Of whom she would befriend
In the park surrounds of Auckland city’s
Busy people blend.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
21 June 2011
Jun 20, 2011
Jun 20, 2011 at 4:44 PM UTC
You're not eating properly
Eliane's mother said
you've hardly eaten a thing
Elaine who'd been thinking
of the boy John
looked up
through her glasses
at her mother
at the dining table
got to eat
her father interjected
got to eat
my young Plump Hen
her sister said nothing
but grinned
I do eat
Elaine said
but she didn't feel
like eating
it seemed the least
important thing
at that moment
her stomach felt
as if it had fallen
into a slumber
not enough
her mother said
maybe she's fallen in love
her father bantered
Elaine went red
and lowered her head
and began to nibble
at the food on her plate
nonsense
her mother said
it's some silly
slimming diet
I bet
not very successful
if it is
her younger sister said smiling
John had touched her arm
in passing at school
not by accident
but by design
he meant to touch
to bring her briefly
into his world
his circumference
she still touched
now and then
the area on her arm
he touched (at school)
with her fingers
I won't have you dieting
over some silly fad
her mother went on
but Elaine ceased listening
the words were buzzing flies
she wanted to
flick them away
with a hand
John had talked to her
not at her
or about her
(as others did)
or down to her
but with her
in a duel thing
he and she
kind of exchange
she ate slowly
the food almost
making her gag
getting stuck
in the throat
she held onto
the image of him
in her mind tried
to focus
on his outline
on his features
his words
taking each one
she could remember
and turning it over
in her mind
as if it were
a rare gem
girls your age
what are you now?
14 yes 14years old
ought not to diet
her mother said
breaking into Elaine's head
if I see you not eating again
I'm taking to the doctors
Elaine looked up
and put on
her good daughter face
that I'll do
whatever you want features
and John had placed
a hand by her head
at the school fence
his arm brushing softly
against her hair
and he never said anything
unkind about
her dark hair
or the metal grips
her mother made her wear
and her mother rattled on
but Elaine just returned
her innocent girl
stare.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 3:15 AM UTC
Sometimes all my head needs to hear
Are sensible stimulations to keep
My thirsty thoughts on track.
I am sorry for my sporadic sensations,
I should share them with the class.
But I can't keep constant cognition
Since the sunshine sparkles in my sights,
And an essence ever so eloquent evanesces from Elaine,
And Fred's fervid feeding fantasia flogs my guts.
I apologize for my lack of attention.
I know it doesn't adhere to your ability and awareness.
But bare with me babe, I have big benevolent things to say.
My waking words of wisdom wage a token to your time.
So I speak like significant social crime,
It seems so sensible, does it not?
Aye, let me idle your illness
And enlighten your English!
My thin ticking thoughts throw in all directions,
I'm positive something will appeal to your petition.
Just Listen and Learn!
All my alliteration has already altered your apperception.
Soon my silly sounds will cease.
I guarantee this gossip
Makes you giddy and not guilty.
So I thank you,
For listening to my labor.
It truly told a timeless tale.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC
On the first night of the Festivus All grievances were aired
But after a few cups of *** our feelings were repaired
The Festivus pole shone brightly, illumined by a single light.
The alcohol flowed freely, this would be no silent night.
Cousin Jerry in the corner was caught snogging with Elaine.
George’s girl was laughing as he struggled to explain
The cause of her disappointment (shrinkage was to blame).
Cosmo Kramer danced around the pole, making spirits bright.
Newman spilled the bowl of punch,( he never was too bright).
Frank and Estelle were doing well and feeling little pain.
She pinned him in the feat of strength, not that he complained.
When the meal was over and the holiday was done
They all made their donations to support the Human fund.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
She'd slept bad.
Thoughts of John
invaded her head
as she lay in bed.
She'd hugged her
Teddy close; kissed
him pretending.
Stroked Teddy's
head, his arms,
kissed him repeatedly.
Her sister snored.
Her sister talked
in her sleep.
Elaine wished
for morning.
Wished for dawn's
light and birdsong;
wanted John there
in her bed;
in her head.
Breakfast was a chore;
she didn't want to eat;
her mother said
she had to: none of
that slimming nonsense.
She ate feeling full,
feeling ill.
Lovesick her
father said jokingly.
Her mother
was not amused,
said just a slimming thing.
Elaine ate and mused dully.
Wondered if John
would kiss her again.
Did she want him to?
She didn't know;
half yes, half no.
The kiss made her
feel out of her
comfort zone;
made her feel
unknown feelings;
buzzes in her *****
She sipped the lukewarm tea:
sugary sweet, drowned in milk.
Her sister chatted about boys
and what so and so did.
Her mother said boys
were not for breakfast talk.
Her father said Elaine
-his Frumpy hen-
didn't need to slim,
was OK as she was.
Elaine wanted John;
wanted a kiss;
wanted him to touch;
a little not over much.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
There you are
Sitting at the counter
With a girl.
A girl, the girl-
She's not that pretty.
She's a downgrade
From me, how could he.
Look at her-
With those stupid glasses and
Elaine Benes Hipster clothes.
After me, why would he.
Oh look-
A DSLR camera that I
Bet she doesn't know how to use.
Instead of me, why would he.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
There's a boy
at the door for you
Elaine's mother said
talking to Elaine
at the door of her room
what boy?
Elaine asked
he said his name was John
her mother said
looking unhappy
her voice strained
he's here?
Elaine asked
I’ve just said he is
her mother said
Elaine frowned
how did he know
where I lived?
how do I know
her mother said
where is he?
Elaine asked
by the front door
now get along
and see him
and then tell me
what is going on
her mother said
Elaine went down stars
to the front door
and there he was
the boy John
standing by the door
how did you know
where I lived?
she asked him
leaning by the door
unsure what to do
or say more than that
I asked someone
in the village
and they said here
I got the bus here
from my village
he added
O I see
she said
looking at his eyes
hazel and bright
well invite him in Elaine
don't need to stand
on the doorstep
the mother said
ok
Elaine said
and invited John in
and they walked
into the living room
where he was invited
to sit on the brown settee
I’m Elaine's mother
and you are John?
yes,I'm John
he said
we go to school together
he added
on the bus
he put in
after a few seconds silence
I see
the mother said
she sat in an armchair
opposite him
and Elaine sat
on the settee
beside John
Elaine's not mentioned
you before
the mother said
eyeing the boy seriously
O I see
he said
looking at Elaine
never thought to say
Elaine said
looking at her slippers
are you friends
at school?
the mother said
yes
he said
we are
Elaine looked
at her mother
hoping he wouldn't
mention the kiss
he'd given her
we share an interest
in birds and butterflies
he said
gazing at the mother
birds and butterflies?
the mother said
yes I bring my book
to school and we
exchange what
we've seen
he said
O I see
the mother said
unsure of the boy
but thinking
he seemed all right
can I get you
a drink of tea?
the mother asked
he looked at Elaine
then at the mother
yes that would be lovely
he said
one sugar if I may
he added
the mother nodded
and smiled
and went out
to the kitchen
leaving the two alone
why did you come here?
Elaine asked
looking at the boy
I wanted to see you
he said
and I didn't want to
wait until Monday
he added
O I see
she said
feeling uncertain
feeling unsure
what she should
say or do
you don't mind do you?
I didn't think
I came on impulse
I don't usually
but I couldn't get you
out of my mind
he said
really?
she said
a smile lingering
on her lips
but not breaking out
yes
he said
ever since you got off
the bus on Friday
I’ve been like this
and he leaned forward
and planted
a gentle kiss.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
John sits
on the school coach
by the window
next to Goldfinch
watching the trees
and fields
and cottages go past.
Goldfinch is talking
of football:
who do
I put
in goal lunchtime
as Potts is way,
who do you think?
Goldfinch says.
Not me that's,
for sure,
John says,
his mind
isn't on Goldfinch
or the goal,
but on Elaine
sitting over
the other side
of the coach.
He looked at her
when she
and sister
got on the coach,
but she looked away,
and not at him.
He guesses she
was shy after all
the rumpus since
Elaine's mouthy sister
told everyone
on the coach
that he had
kissed Elaine.
But it soon
died down
and apart
from a few
How's the Frump Elaine?
When he got on
and later
when Elaine got on,
then it died out.
Now the kids
are talking amongst
themselves or listening
to the music
from the coach radio,
some pop song
about loving somebody.
Need someone
by lunchtime,
Goldfinch says,
whom do you suggest?
Green might,
he ain't bad,
John says.
Green? He couldn't
save a 1p
for Christmas;
someone else,
Goldfinch says.
John doesn't
care who,
he's thinking
of Elaine
and whether she'll
let him kiss
her again
after the rumpus;
he hopes so,
although he's
not sure
he'll be welcome
at Elaine's home now.
Why did her sister
tell like that?
He muses,
listening
half heartedly
to Goldfinch's talk,
it was just a quick
kiss not
too passionate
and it was only
while her mother
was out of the room
briefly that day.
He looks over
to where Elaine
is sitting quickly
to see if she's
looking his way,
but she isn't
she's staring out
the window.
Her sister
glares at him,
so he looks away,
and back out
of the window
and the passing view,
not sure
what to think
or what to do.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 4:39 AM UTC
I want to show you the pond
John says
ducks and swans
are there
and now and then
herons come
Elaine wonders
where the pond is
is it far?
she asks
no not far
just down through
the wood
here
down these rides
mind the brambles
he walks ahead of her
she follows
can you hear that?
he says
what is it?
blackbird
you can tell
by the song
she looks at him
ahead of her
she wishes
he would stay with her
she's not been
in these woods before
how big is it?
she asks
not that big
but big enough
you'll see
he says
back to her
walking on
that's a song thrush
he says
love the song thrush
she treads carefully
along the ride
she doesn't want
to catch her legs
on brambles
they reach a fence
and he climbs over
and waits for her
careful how you get over
he says
don't want to get
a splinter
in your leg
she climbs carefully
trying to keep
her skirt
tight to her legs
doesn't want him
to see up her skirt
but he looks away
out at the field
see pheasants
out there sometimes
he says
she climbs down
the other side
brushes her skirt down
and stands next to him
where's the pond?
over there
he says pointing
over the way
not far now
he walks on
and she follows him
he is just ahead of her
then he climbs over
another fence
it's here
she comes to the fence
and looks over
you'll have to climb over
to see it properly
he says
she climbs the fence
carefully
but he has gone down
towards the pond
staring at the water's skin
she walks down
beside him
standing there
a gentle smell
of flowers
hanging in the air.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 4:20 PM UTC
The boy John
had gone
he'd been there
for about an hour
sitting on the settee
then briefly
-with her mother's
permission-
out in the garden
where they looked
for birds and butterflies
Elaine had seen him off
from the front garden gate
-her mother peering
through net curtains-
and watched until
he disappeared
around a bend
did you know
he was coming?
her mother asked
no I had no idea
Elaine replied
looking at
the empty place
on the settee
where he'd sat
he does know
you're 14
I suppose?
he's in my class at school
he's 14 too
Elaine said
sensing the place
where he'd sat
beside her and the kiss
on the lips
so sudden so gentle
yet Mum had been
in the kitchen
what if she had seen?
he might have
asked first
her mother said
not just turn up
on the doorstep
I didn't know
Elaine said
then licked her lips
where his lips
had been
can I trust you?
her mother asked
trust me
to do what?
Elaine said
do nothing
her mother said
do nothing?
Elaine said
looking unsure
what her mother meant
do things with him
her mother said
do things?
Elaine repeated
what things?
her mother frowned
and said
nothing just nothing
Elaine nonplus
nodded her head
her mother smiled
now what
was I doing?
she said
o yes the washing
and went off
to the wash room
and left Elaine frowning
at her mother's
departing figure
do nothing?
Elaine muttered
to herself
and patted the space
where the boy John
had sat
then touched her lips
and that was that.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 2:33 AM UTC
He first notice Elaine
as she waited
for the school bus
standing there
in the pouring rain
with her younger sister
and other kids
from the village
he noticed
how drowned she looked
her spectacles so wet
she couldn’t see out
her dark hair
hanging limp
about her face
and she looked down
not up
as she climbed
aboard the bus
making her way
down the aisle
of the bus
like some female Crucified
and sat in the seat
by the window
and peered out
her sister sat
next to her
equally as wet
yet unperturbed
laughing at another
who jested
at her state
but Elaine's
was a separate state
a lesser one's fate
knowing other eyes
gazed and sniggered
and whispered
into their hands
but not John
he saw her through
his own eyes
pushed away
the sneers
and sighs
and sniggering japes
and saw a deeper soul
within peering out
through the window glass
that showed
the falling rain
he looked away
taking note of her hair
and eyes
and glasses smeared
and how she pushed
her wet hands
between the caresses
of her knees
and dampened skirt
how by the look
of her face
revealed
her inner hurt
and as the bus
moved off and on
the radio blaring
some Mike Sarne song
the voices of children
competing for the space
and John half listening
to Trevor talk
some such of fishing
with a friend
at pond or river
he did not discern
or Trevor’s sister
across the aisle
chatting of some dress
her mother bought
not the fashion
she complained
but John held close
the image of the girl
who sat behind
across the aisle
whose dampened
state of dress
and soul
had moved his mind
and touched his heart
but said nothing
to either Trevor
with talk of fish
and rod
or Monica's dress
or clothes whatever
it had been
unfashionable or such
as undesired
he looked out
at the passing scene
as the bus raced by
thinking of Elaine
sitting a little way
behind
wiping the raindrops
from glasses
so she could see
and not be
half blind.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC
That is it
all over
Elaine thinks
on the bus
after school
she and John
and the kiss
all done with
everything
on the edge
her nerves wrought
as if each
hidden thought
was exposed
to everyone
silently
she sits near
the window
looking out
tears sitting
on the rims
of her eyes
like actors
impatient
to get on
to the stage
and perform
she’d seen John
walk on by
to get on
the school bus
he is there
across the
aisle sitting
looking out
as she is
wondering
what went wrong
what he’d said
or done wrong
at lunch time
on the field
at recess
he saw her
on the bus
sitting there
looking out
not at him
pretending
not to know
he is there
Goldfinch talks
beside him
some such stuff
in his ears
empty words
soft laughter
all John wants
is Elaine
to have her
near to him
her body
close and warm
not this cold
far distance
between them
Elaine feels
all undone
all exposed
each nerve taut
every
thought of John
being near
but not near
wanting him
next to her
as it was
before lunch
the bus moves
to go home
she watches
scene changes
vibrations
moving tears
to the edge
like fragile
suicides
thinking on
the long fall
but her love
bites deeply
all undone
can’t recall.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
Elaine sat
on her bed
her plump hands
in her lap
palms upward
wondering
which lines there
was the life
and which was
the love line,
she'd read it
in some place
on a page
in her mum's
magazine,
which her mum
had left there
for Elaine
to study
about girls
and bodies,
periods,
the naming
of each part,
with a line
like a thin
black arrow
showing there
what was what.
What she saw
made her blush
and quickly
turned the page
to see where
her love line
or life live
was on her
upturned palm.
The bold word:
******
stuck in her
mind like glue;
like having
a brand new
item in her
plumpish palms,
turning round
with fingers
anxiously
not knowing
what to do.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 2:14 PM UTC
The lamplit page is turned, the dream forgotten;
The music changes tone, you wake, remember
Deep worlds you lived before,--deep worlds hereafter
Of leaf on falling leaf, music on music,
Rain and sorrow and wind and dust and laughter.
Helen was late and Miriam came too soon.
Joseph was dead, his wife and children starving.
Elaine was married and soon to have a child.
You dreamed last night of fiddler-crabs with fiddles;
They played a buzzing melody, and you smiled.
To-morrow--what? And what of yesterday?
Through soundless labyrinths of dream you pass,
Through many doors to the one door of all.
Soon as it's opened we shall hear a music:
Or see a skeleton fall . . .
We walk with you. Where is it that you lead us?
We climb the muffled stairs beneath high lanterns.
We descend again. We ***** through darkened cells.
You say: this darkness, here, will slowly **** me.
It creeps and weighs upon me . . . Is full of bells.
This is the thing remembered I would forget--
No matter where I go, how soft I tread,
This windy gesture menaces me with death.
Fatigue! it says, and points its finger at me;
Touches my throat and stops my breath.
My fans--my jewels--the portrait of my husband--
The torn certificate for my daughter's grave--
These are but mortal seconds in immortal time.
They brush me, fade away: like drops of water.
They signify no crime.
Let us retrace our steps: I have deceived you:
Nothing is here I could not frankly tell you:
No hint of guilt, or faithlessness, or threat.
Dreams--they are madness. Staring eyes--illusion.
Let us return, hear music, and forget . . .
832
If you could see me now,
If you were here, still today,
What, I wonder, would you have to say?
My behavior, I'll admit, hasn't been the best.
I fear you are up there, disappointed in me.
This isn't who I want to be, I confess.
You can read my thoughts, I fear.
Into my mind, please don't go near.
No, stay away from that dark, evil place.
In life, you loved me somehow.
Would you still love me,
If you could see me now?
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC