"saskia" poems
On the first day, he was pushed
robust in his stance, the other forced,
this boy down the spiral staircase
of the Catholic church, the school
had renovated, the Spring before
Isaac had begun his studies,
at the high school.
Ballet was his passion, Latin was the
language that so effortlessly, fluently
was spoken from his lips in class
as he smiled at his Professor, another
victory accomplished in academia
so proud were his parents, of their
blue eyed boy.
Jonah was the reject, the older brother
he had been kicked out of school,
not once, but twice, and was often
found with a joint, his unshaven face
wrapped around one of the girls,
from the all girls school that ran
alongside Isaacs all boys.
Issac was hurt, a further blow to his
stomach, rendered him broken
as a waterfall of tears ran down his
bruised and cut face, so ashamed
as other pupils laughed, staring, pointing
until the final bell rang as they fled from
the high ceilings and narrow corridors.
Wrapped in a ball, he waited for all
halls and students to clear, and as
he rolled over, picking himself up
he took to the washroom, knowing he
needed to be presentable for his mother
waiting for him at the school gate
brimming with pride, at her boys scholarship.
All his dreams, mystical and serene, Romeo and Juliet
fluid streams of poetry of Elliot, Poe, Hughes
and of course Wilde and those love letters of Beethoven
math, biology, all paled into insignificance
he was born a writer, a dancer, a drawer,
sketching and typing his heart to a page,
prose a future love would read.
Johan saw his mother's car pull up
as he raced and giggled with Saskia
leading her astray, he promised her all
the things those boys always did, and of course
not to break her sweet sixteen heart, unlike other boys
as his mother smoked another Camel, the two lovers
jumped into his truck, Johnny Cash blaring from speakers
laughing hysterically, the world at their feet.
By 4pm, Isaac was ready to leave school,
tentatively walking out the main door, down
concrete slabs as steps, no predators in sight
he couldn't hide the dark circles under his eyes
that formed as bruises, knowing he was fortunate
to have not been damaged further
by the haunting before last period.
Walking to the gates, he listened through
headphones; Tchaikovsky
his release
his home
his saving grace.
© Sia Jane
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
DUTCH SPRING
I walk through
the 16th century
imperceptibly
passing on into
the 17th without
even knowing I had
done so and here
are Dutch people
staring at me
wondering where I've come from.
I look into their eyes
long dead by now
their painted faces
gazing out of golden frames
windows into
all that's passed.
Trying to remember
Rembrandt saying
'"...the light from other's
minds..."
And here is Saskia
still asleep in a few brushstrokes.
I tiptoe away
an intruder into
their long ago lives
different yet the same
as mine
The Jewish Bride sad
to see me go
back into the bustle
of Spring
in the Amsterdam of now.
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 3:35 PM UTC
The cutest face,
big blueish eyes,
Soft reddish hair,
Angel in disguise.
Best sense of humour,
The widest of smiles,
Most loving personality,
Voice heard for miles.
My single savior,
From going insane,
Keeps me alive,
Keeps me in lane.
My life isn't perfect,
But with her it feels such,
She is my baby,
I love her so much
Dec 2, 2023
Dec 2, 2023 at 12:57 PM UTC
boys
all of them
loved you for life
life -
boys are not loud
about
with all zeros
and perfect ones
you will only code
a program
everything in between
blind to your blue eyes
love
in the essence of fire
boys will jump in
to save
you - or them
words
the truth
forever remain
in their eyes
yours are the prettiest
Saskia!
..................
mh
my boy Mowgli
' till we meet again
-
Jun 21, 2022
Jun 21, 2022 at 7:59 AM UTC