"gawped" poems
I don’t suppose
you remember
that day one December
when I scored a hat-trick
in the mouthwash-smeared hall
and thought I was Messi
for a couple of seconds
or when we went to the Tate
in about year eight
for a rare school-trip
with a gang of teachers
and we gawped at the art
like the cat next door
stalking a bird
or when my Dad said
that my uncle had expired
and I was on stage one night
with Joe’s coat of many colours
and wet veins on my face
for some reason
I didn’t get
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
She looked at me and smiled
I looked at her and gawped
For what had beset my eyes
Was beauty that completely stunned me
Suddenly life made sense
Something so stunning
Made everything better
No
Not better
Perfect
I was filled with total love and reverence at her beauty
My mind and heart felt at peace
Something that has never happened
And then she stopped
And I stared
She smiled again
And it all started again
Except this time
I felt like I knew her
Like we were always there for each other
We could tell each other everything
So that's what I did
As she sat down
I cried
Cried and spoke
I told her everything
All my lies
All my secrets
All my desires
All my losses
All of me
She then said in a voice like silken honey
"I WOULD CONDEMN YOU WERE IT NOT FOR LOVE"
And she was gone
And with that all I knew
Was an emptiness
An emptiness beyond all I have known
An emptiness beyond even her beauty
"I'M SORRY"
I cried to the sky
To my condemned soul
And to the monsters she left with me
IN MY HEAD
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 6:58 AM UTC
Years ago, I wed a mechanic,
A token marriage, quite symbolic,
Saturday arvos, really shambolic,
I gawped at him, gazing at his dipstick,
Still working on who was the dipstick,
Checking under the hood,
was supposed to be good,
So, that is what is really symbolic,
Dipstick gazing at a dipstick, gazing at his dipstick,
Yah! Symbolism of the futile past symbolic............
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 1:13 PM UTC
She was one of the vaudeville dancers
he supposed. He had drawn back the
curtain and she was sitting there on
the stall one leg crossed over the other,
in that skimpy dress, white lace up shoes.
He had apologised, blushed, was about
to draw back the curtain when she said:
Oh, no leave it be. And he had and stood
there, slightly open mouthed, mind ticking
over, eyes stuck on her fine legs crossed.
They were nice legs he thought. Her dark
hair, parted in the middle was not well
brushed; it seemed as if she’d just got up
from a bed. Maybe she had. She gazed at
him, her eyes looked foreign. Odd to think
that, he thought. He wanted to drink her in.
Take in each aspect of her just sitting there.
I’m on soon, she said. Yes, definitely an
accent, he thought nodding. I’m a dancer,
she said. O right, he said. He thought as
much; the dress and shoes, the way she
had about her. White ankle shoes. Lace ups.
Not the sort to wear out in the street, he
supposed. Are you to watch the show?
She asked. Yes, I am, he said, looking at
her lips, the way they spread under her
nose, held in place by her cheeks, he
thought. What would his mother say about
her short dress? Far too short, shows her
backside almost, she’d have said scornfully.
Yet he still gawped at her. Her ankles, knees,
thighs. What a feast for the eyes, he mused,
trying to look away, but held bound, fixed
as if by some glue. The tassels on the end of
the short dress moved as she stood up. She
stretched her arms. Shook her legs back into
life as if they had died. Must be ready, she said.
Warm ups. Yes, of course, he murmured, and
turned away, walking off, carrying the image
of her and her shoes and dress and her dark
hair into his mind. Fixed there. Captured each
aspect of her being, placed in some room of
memory, for later viewing, in his secret seeing.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC
I bought a coffee the other day,
Gawped at society on the way,
Coffee shop like the undertakers,
Here no conversation makers,
"The crowd" sitting in total silence,
Gazing at phones, is it sense?
So much for that coffee shop,
The solitude of worshiping Microsoft,
Alone together, where does it stop?
Solitary silence in the coffee shop!
Sep 27, 2019
Sep 27, 2019 at 8:32 PM UTC