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Plush and Prim is your White, Feathery Plume
Soft the Inertia of your Thighs update
I pray this time, your Victory resume,
Revive your Year's Fortress not far too late
In your eyes you reject the Gambler's View
For no such Attitude ever won Hearts
The Paddles you took - timed and faster blue
Were enough for us to make Key Remarks
This Beauty, defined as Hair-Painted Wind,
Tad effort needed to brush your Canvas red
Pour out! Pour out! Pour, Passion's Purest Sprint
And let your Spirit drape these Words instead:
I'll just be right here, cheering for your Cause
Whether win or lose my Soul will not pause.
#v_pendleton
Khoi-San Jul 2018
Shackled imprisoned in an oval office
Called Robben island Transformed
Unshackled twenty seven years later
Freed a nation from an apartheid regime
Inspired the world from the Grand parade
A Universal Icon Humanitarian *** laude
Now honoured in the halls of Valhalla
Glorifying God...Looks upon us
With Love from the heavenly realm
INKULULEKO AHLULA
A tribute to the late great President Nelson Mandela on his hundredth birthday
18th July 1918 to 18 July 2018
Joshua Brown Dec 2015
poem in two parts (a plane and bird)
You are a sound in still silence; a point against negative space toward which my eye is drawn. The sun set, peeking beneath a blanket of storm clouds, painting the underside, as a plane, an infinitesimal photon, a plane flew as an impossible pinprick of optimistic light, moving slowly against the immense parallax backdrop of bright and hazy pink-orange glowing thunder clouds. You are the first breath I took. You are the product of all infinities, divided by itself, the sum of all integers. When the earth falls into the sun, long after humans left, long after you left, and any recognizable trace of you is swallowed, your memory will persist. You will have still lived; You will have been the last breath I took.

A fulcrum of loss and a wedge between two equally lost people, but between them, between them still a bird, flying farther than any eye can see, but should the lights of the lighthouses lose you against their foggy panes, or should the salty wind dash you against something equally heavy, call out, and cast your voice into the sky, upon the sea, and against the stars, and maybe its echoes will live a little longer than you.
A

Valentine,

of any kind

is affirmation of

their

love and. . .


...if you believe it,
then it is so.
Tint Aug 2018
Oh Victoria, the colour red you loved
I wore them inside my body, the colour of blood
I remember how  you'd come running and sneak inside my house
To the secret sanctuary in the small hill by the pond
We strode the gaping distance  to our little paradise
There, I saw the loveliest sunsets, such beautiful goodbyes
You beneath the glistening sunlight, you taught me how to love

I never forgot, Victoria
the day you said goodbye
A tidal wave that drowned me and buried in my heart
We laughed and said promises, but it was your last
I did not know how you could do it, to just leave like that
All I saw was the rope hanging from the window in your house
I wished I had told you, forever you are loved.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
Along Victoria Inner Harbour
Behind the granite wall
Next to Capt. James Cook's effigy in bronze
Next to bold bronze plaques of white-worlders-
Come-by-water
Across from The Empress
In front of the Assembly of Other Nations
Under an iron bench
Scratched in concrete—
No justice on stolen land.
Victoria, British Columbia, Canada.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Sea of oranges
I travel you in the dark
The light reveals too much
Drove through the groves
Somewhere darker than my mind
I’ve gone too far
I lose myself to you
Victoria Avenue

-JCM-
Victoria is a long road sourounded by orange groves that I love to drive though at night.
False Poets Oct 2017
does the moon get tired?

~for the children who never tire of moon gazing upon the dock,
by the light of the fireflies,
till the angels are dispatched by Nana,
to sprinkle sleepy dust in their eyelashes so long and fine~


<•>
while walking the dog I no longer have,
a happenstance glanceable up over the River East,
there you were, mr. moon, in all your fulsomeness ,
surrounded by a potpourri of courtier clouds,
all deferentially bowing, waving,
passing past you at a demure royal speed on their way
perhaps,
to Rebecca's northern London,
of was it south to grace of  v V v's Texas^,
in any event,
the cloudy ladies, all bustling and curvaceous,  
all high stepping in recognition of your exalted place,
Master of the Night Sky

We,
the word careless, poets excessive,
sometimes called silly poppies, old men,
left footed, still crazy after many years,
most assuredly poets false all of us,
without a proper prior organized thought train,
outed,
bludgeon blurted,
an inquiry preposterous and strange,
strait directed to the sombre face,
to mister moon himself!

tell me moon, do you ever tire?*

the obeisant clouds shocked
as that face we all uniform know,
unchanged anywhere you might go  to gaze, be looking upon it,
watched the moon's face turn askew.

He looking down at our rude puzzlement,
with a Most Parisian askance,
a look of French ahem moustacheoed disbelief,
while we watched as the moon cherubic cheeks
filled with airy atmosphere,
then he sighed

so windy winding, was it,
so mountain high and river deep,
that those chubby clouds were blown off course,
from a starless NYC sky
all the way past Victoria Station,
only to stop at Pradip and Bala's
mysterious land of
bolly-dancing India,
on their way to Sally's Bay of Manila,
magic places all!

Mr. Moon looked down at this one tremulous fool representative  
(me) and in a voice
basso beaming and starry sonorous,
befitting its stellar positioning,
squinting to get a closer look at the
who in whom
dare address him in such an emboldened manner!

Mmmmm, recognize you, you are among those
who use my presence, steal my lighted beams, my silver aura,
my supermoon powered light, borrow my eclipses,
reveal my changeling shaped mystery without permission,
only mine to give, you tiny borrowers who write that thing,
p o e t r y

head and kneed, bowed and bent,
I confessed
(on y'alls behalf)

we take your luminosity and don't spare you
even a tuppence, a lonely rupee, no royalties paid
to you-up-so-highness,
and we hereby apologize for all the poets
without exception,
especially those moon besotted,
only love poem writing,
vraiment misbegotten scoundrels....

with another sigh equality powerful,
mr moon pushed those clouds across the Pacifica,
all the way to the  US's West Coast,
up to Colorado,
where moon-takings from the lake's reflecting light
so perfect for rhyming, kayaking,
and moonlight overthrowing,
once more, the moon taken and begotten,
nightly,
as heaven- freely-granted

yes, I tire
and though  here I am much beloved,
usually admired though sometimes even blackened cursed,
seen in every school child's drawing,
in Nasa's calculations,
of my influential gravitational pull,
moving human hearts
to love and giving Leonard a musical compositional hint,
and while this admirable devotion is most delighting,
would it upset some vast eternal plan,
if but one of you once asked,
you fiddler scribblers
my prior permission,
even by just, a lowly
mesmerizing evening tide's tenderizing glance?

yes, I tire,
even though my cycles are variable,
my shape shifting unique, my names so at variance
in all your many musical sing-song dialectical languages,
my sway, my tidal currents so powerful a deterrence,
unlike my boring older sunny cousine  who just cannot get over
how hot looking she is,
I,  so more personally interesting,
yet you use me as if I were a fixture,
on and off with
a tug of the chain string,
never failing to appear,
even when feeling pale yellow and orange wan,
and worse,
mocked as an amore pizza pie,
do you ever ask how I am doing?

yes, I tire,
of my constant circuitous route that changes ever so slowly,
but yet, too fast for me to make some nice human acquaintances, especially those young adoring children
who give me their morn pleasurable squeals when they awake and my presence still there,
a shining ghost of a guardianship protector still
watching over them

how oft in life do we presume,
take for granted
grants so extra-ordinary
that we forget to remember
the extra
and see only the ordinary

how oft in life do we assume,
the every day is always every,
until it is not,
only an only
a now and then,
till then,
is no longer a
now*

<>
oh moon, oh moon,
our richest apologies
we hereby tender and surrender,
our arrogance beyond belief,
what can we offer in relief?

silence heard loud and clear,
mr. moon was gone,
a satellite in motion,
so our words burnt up in the atmosphere
unheard

we did not weep
nor huff and puff,
blow those clouds back to us,
for we knew
the extraordinary
would return tomorrow,
we will be ready,
better another day,
to prepare
a lunar composition,
a psalm of hallelujah praise,
for mr. moon
of which
mr moon will never tire,
for filled with the perma-warmth
of our affection
for the one we call mr.moon
False Poets is a collective of different poets who write here, in a single voice,
hence the confusing interchangeable switching of the pronouns.    sorry bout that.


^ HP - give them back the claimed  V name!
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2018
~weary weighted~

flummoxed are the sea watchers;
the long rhythms of sea change reveal only minor modesties,
difficult discerned are the tidal subtleties

though repetitive thrashing extracts it toll,
only the weary-weighted see the true meaning of the beating,
knowing full well,
it beats for them

recalling their early day’d fascination with its endless chaining,
now knowing all are similar
detained-chained,
and  the ******* churning but a cover up masque,
they need not longer conceal,
an unrevealed confess:

water is heavy-weighted, you cannot forever float,
constancy is of a thing to be wary,
its sadder longevity,
a chipping away erosion of wearing,
‘tis is the knelling noise of  sad respite,
an unlight lighthouse



~for Victoria, a year later~
Empire Jul 28
You won two battles
And had the audacity to think you might win the war?
Ha! How terribly foolish of you, my nemesis!
I am still here.
I am still fighting.

So, onward I march
Even if all I do is breathe
I will resist
As you try to land your blows
As I hear your voice in my ear

Even when the march
Becomes a weary stagger
You will not best me
I will always get back up
When you beat me down

Some battles I will surely lose
Many already lost...
But not tonight

This victory is mine.

It's not much,
But I won.
Reminder to myself that bad nights and lost battles do not mean the war is over.
Ashley Chapman Nov 2017
High on the O2:
Red Rossopomodoro, Wagamama,
and on the bus shelter, Marc Jacobs,
and again higher,
Habitat,
then Metroline moves past.
It's the 113
to Oxford Circus,
and the 13 to Victoria:
Thrilla Lives On,
the slogan shouts,
while National Express has
All Set For Take-Off.

They're gone...
It calms
empties,
nothing much
just the red lidless eyes
of cars
two, three, four dozen pairs
hover
over the asphalt road.

Where...
where am I?
Ahhh, yeah,
in the Oriental Star,
the road seen from a table and stool,
waiting
for food.
Where have I hailed from?
My lover's womb.  
No, no
NOT THAT!
The North Star, yes:
A pub on the Finchley Road,
Where Tottenham beat Liverpool 4-1
A pyrrhic victory!
Over a couple of beers.

Warm years, and tears.
A sense of place,
a home, a nest,
Receding in the traffic
Of a busy road,
Waiting on noodles.
onlylovepoetry Jul 2017
if only I knew how to love...

for my Victoria

winces-grimaces, that these words even leave my fingertips,
reminiscences, a chrome bookmark tab full of decades of near misses,
instances, subway sideway stolen daily glances of she who would be the only, the one, but one day failed to appear, left to dream peer,
and/or
decades long of romanced lasses, flying spectacular super crashes, when my heart-blanched, lanced, and the lawyers danced, poems shriveled as dried ink crack'd and words rusted shut,
cut by so many p'raps, and **** motives, beautiful covered up, disguised as synapses of sin and insincerity, and I,
the sad man,
both the sinner and the sinned against,
totalities, of shoulda-woulda-asked/kissed-her-gallantly,
activities, when kisses were doorways to trap door rooms
and an over decorated monte cristo prison cell

ah well

the 'and yet,' the 'but for,' a single finger, sealing silenced lips,
passions mourned and irrevocable sensations, frittered, fractured,
all that I calmly called love was sprigs and broken branches,
cut flowers destined to shrivel,
not of what I believed in, something akin to a tree rooted, an oaken strong unbreakable love

of this certain, all approximations, all failed incantations,
for surely, if but only one escaped, could have been saved,

and if truthful love it was,
I would have known it,
for would I have dared to let slip away?
7/14/17
O sense of vagueness and shadows of light
Bring forth the drowned sorrows of night
For life’s dreams splendor marred morality
Voices of sound reason tell of blithe and serenity

Deep seasons string together parts and pieces
Divided and folded in the sum of creases
Lord of lightening spills water to cancel all guilt
Branches sway over things remembered but never felt

A compromised child, her truths’ decantation
Selfish schemes produced an unfavored party decoration
Strained order borrowed none from the awakening
Tree in grass moment looked up to the sky held singing

Love on the wings of angels delivered her higher self
All other matters packed and placed on a shelf
Spirited to be remembered and forever free
Infinite light and love for Victoria in eternity
Ride in a Ferrari,
See the Seven Wonders of the world,
Travel in the Concorde,
Be in the Guiness Book Of World Record for writing the most poems,
Go bungee jumping on Victoria Falls,
And lastly see Serengeti Wildbeest Migration on hot air balloon.
30/7/2019
Things I want to do before I die.
Bardo Apr 22
I could spend my life in the supermarket, going around the aisles
Walking among the plentiful and the abundant
Looking for things to help plug the holes inside,
Looking for something, hungry for something, I don't know what
But something that probably can't be found on shelves
Something that was maybe lost a long time ago.

I seen her first among the cauliflowers
I was looking at the lettuce, but only just
Secretly, like a crack detective, I was watching her
Beautiful blonde Venus, tall and willowy, all by herself,
I watched her buy some broccoli, then move over to where the
    fruit was
There she picked some pears and some bananas -
"Mmmm", I thought to myself, " so you're into healthy eating,
    you still strive to maintain your health
You must still believe in life and things like love and joy
    and hope".

A little while later I seen her again, she was buying a Victoria
    sponge cake
And looking rather wistfully I thought at the huge array of
    chocolate bars and sweets
"A-ha!", I thought as if I'd caught her out, as if I'd found her
     weakness, her vice,
" So you lack sweetness in your life and you try to compensate
      with these"-
Well, not to worry, sure I often do the same thing myself
Temptation Alley I call this aisle - this place
You know, and here's a thought, I! Me! I could be your little
    Sweetie and you my little Honey pie
You wouldn't need to seek this kind of comfort anymore
I could give you words, I could give you lines, O! the lines I
    could give you
Thousands of words running in syrupy streams, sweeter than
     the sweetest honey
That'd dress you up in fabulous gowns, make your eyes widen
    in awe and wonder
Sparkle vivaciously like glittering sunshine on a sea in Summer,
I'd build you up, not knock you down, no! I wouldn't let you fall
The sun it'd always be shining in your heart ".

Next time I seen her, she was in among the wines
Looking a little bit lost like myself with all the different labels
" So!", I thought, "you like to kick loose sometimes, you like to try
   and shake off the shackles that bind, the shackles of your mind
You yearn to be free and wild again, just like you were when you
    were a little child,
To escape all those unpleasant restricting voices, old ghosts from
     the past perhaps
Or maybe dark monsters this world planted inside, that won't go  
    away
You want to make them all seem so crazy and funny and mad
I know, I know, it can get too much sometimes, can be hard to
    take
You know, Me! I'd do battle for you I would, I'd be your brave
    and valiant knight
I'd face down those awful dragons, I'd lance them and trounce
    them, I'd show you the truth
That they were always only mere shadows without any real
    substance behind them,
O! I would".

It was funny but it seemed that wherever I went she was there
    also
That wherever she went was some place I myself would go
It was like her shopping habits were a direct mirror image of
    my own.

She came up real close to me in the pet food section to get her
    cans of Whiskas
" So you own a cat too, I bet he sits on your lap and you stroke
      him gently
And whisper silly funny little catty things in his ears..."

In the herbal bath and fragrances section, she was waiting for
   me again
"So you like to soak in a hot tub, lie back and let the whole world
    just float away,
I could light some scented candles, give you a nice soothing rub
Put on some nice soft calming music, together we'd make an
    otherworldly place
For ourselves that no one else could find - it'd be our special
    place".

I met her again, this time browsing through books in the Books
    section, she was reading the blurbs on the back covers
I could see her thinking, trying to decide which one to choose,
" I hope you pick a good one, that'll make you happy, make you
    laugh and smile
Not the kind that'd make you shiver, cast a shadow over your
    world",
I watched her move over to the music CD's...sad songs and love
    songs, still the romantic I see,
I could see her sitting at home with her cat, reading her book,
    listening to her favorite songs
Dreaming of other lives she might have had and the heroes she
    might have been,
"But we can be heroes still, you and I, heroes of our own lives
We could write our own books, sing our own songs
We wouldn't always have to be looking over at them and theirs,
We could build a world we'd love to look at and wake up to.
O! Yes...yes we could".

I grew curiouser and curiouser about her
Once she turned around and glanced at me briefly, but only for a
     second
She had these wonderful big blue 'rescue me' eyes.

She reached the checkouts first
By the time I got there, there were other people in between us
I watched her, she smiled faintly at something the checkout girl
    said,
She looked like someone who didn't smile an awful lot,
" What a pity, what a shame", I thought, "someone who looks like
     you do".
I wanted...wanted to say something to her before she left the
     store,
I watched her fill her bags, then head to the exit door
I could feel her slipping away from me
" C'mon, c'mon", I thought impatiently as the checkout girl,
     she leisurely scanned my items,
Paying her quickly I bundled everything into my trolley and
     took off in a hurry,
Inside me a voice was shouting "Don't go! Please don't go! throw
    me a lifeline too, won't you!
Because sometimes I feel... sometimes I feel I myself I'm
    drowning, that I need rescuing too".

I could see her car pulling out, it was a small car just like my
    own, nothing fancy,
But wait! There was someone with her... a man!... another man
I was crushed/ torn inside," But I knew you, I understood
    you...better than he ever could",
And then... and then she was gone,
I was just left there standing in the car park with my shopping
    trolley.
Looking down at all the things I'd bought, all the things that me
    and her liked
I thought for a moment that they might magically transform and
    that she'd be standing there one more time, all vibrant & alive
But no! I guess that could never be.

So she went back to her world and I went back to mine,
I went back to my cat and she went back to hers and her man,
She had become just another thing now, just another thing I
    couldn't find.
Going to the supermarket won't be the same again. Quite sad this, a career in Mills & Boon beckons.
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Our salvation taking
another high-life (Lip)
The middle-income lip
Our lips leaked
Being possessed the kiss
on empty

Humpty Dumpty sat
on her Lego lips
Singers the Talking Heads
Where are the feds to late
Those stolen lips
State of a wedding trips
Rainbow chalk the state was
on lip nightmare call
Being stalked (Lumber Jack)

The devil filler up poverty
The world being pulled
Push her lip up
                    > >

Arrowsmith bow and arrow
                    >>
  Losing elasticity lips go
UPSTATE gravity

"What an under(state)meant"
"The press (God Bless)
    the golden child
     lips filling in
       the gaps
What!! no comment"

 So sad we need the happy
Irish lad too many
    Sugar Dads
lip recession deadlines to meet
The curveball
Another sip we joined the
Navy but eyeshadow deep-over
the edge gray
The Seal had an unusual tail
Her lips fast food drive smashed
Her Meal

The peace lips blew far away
"Medieval Swords heart lips
            will pay"
Times come and go its excruciating
Lips went too far always mating
Imitating people takes a whole village
Of pain

But the spiritual blessing rain
In Woodstock concerts
What perks to gain
The acid trip music we can
sip each other's lips

    Now if this wasn't passion
What a state got smeared
Like a crime scene
of fashion
Her lips could rise
Like the Millenium

         Max
Playing the jazz sax
Still the income tax

But the state in a crisis
of sales tax
Star a stage minimum wage
All the states we travel her lips
The water stays refreshing where
On her body, he really sees it on
her lips nowhere else

How many states can you
count on your finger
Long lip Ranger

The Victoria Secrets
The Tra la the bra's on the
Five-star Hilton Hotel
hanger

Holding onto her guns
Going right or to the left
Powerful lips he went
off the cliff

Getting Burned and
the State tax
You earned
The Swearing
Her lip talk so caringly
Can we move her lips to
another state more cautiously
How her hips look like
they will inflate

I am not a painting by
your candlelight fate
I felt like a tax right off
Taxi yellow race her lips
on the meter money bluff
I ended up in the state of
*
Michigan
Tricks are ****
Like a lip magician

Kentucky home was barrels
of Bourbon
I never said I wanted a drink
my name is Robin

Going to Deleware
what hardware did anyone care
So humble like the bumblebee
She was way too soft as her software

Have gun we travel but have lips we rumble

We need courage this world of states
can be savage
Gold bonds of "Dynasty European"
top dollar vultures mean
funds that's a grand entrance

Now I see how these states
start to unravel
California here I come right
back where
my lips started from

Her upper society lip could use
Champagne and caviar
The star was getting fat a nice trim
Grumpy beard make it a
short tax cut with him
Text and tweets no lip sweets
Rocky Colorado mountain men

French lips played art
Like Van Gogh perfect 10
Scenic route crazed
So many states should
be sued overly sexed suites

In Alaska, she was on a freeze

All the money in the world she got New York Token

All I asked the waitress
for State fair pie
My lips could have
used *Sweet Peach * so
pucker up
Don't be a sucker
Alabama state trooper
in Kansas City

What a spell click of heels

Georgia is always on my mind
Is New York only a state of
Frank Sinatra singing mind
What a big foot in her mouth
Nancy Sinatra dark lips Goth
State boots softly made
for loving that's just
what lips do one of these
Days my lips are going to
gloss all over you
Who's the Boss
So fasten your lip belts
The spiritual state always does the cross

Bumpy ride (Bette Davis) Eyes
Taking a trip to the end of the
boot of Sicily vineyards
Whats mine Jailbirds
She cut her lip when she was
in (Connecticut Movie cut)
On the Mystic Seaport lips were
getting hot ****** fit

Like a state disease fire pit
State of a lip disaster
But the state couldn't
resist her
Ending up in Arizona
Something is swizzling
it's not Kevin Bacon

Make no mistake when you plan
a state trip you better have your
weapon ready
Mafia bullets Bonnie and Clyde
they rob *Banks money Lips
Stae of mind we are traveling again but our lips will be the walking the yellow pages old news Staes can rock up she has the Wizardly Oz shoes
Ryan O'Leary Mar 4
Somebody highlighted my
spelling mistake on the wall
of a pedestrian underpants!!
======================
||||||||||||||||||||||
======­================
              

  " Miss-under-stood "

I'm not into voyeurism,
but, either I am colour
  blind, or, Victoria has
  disclosed her secret(e).


ps.

Things are looking up!

      Samuel Beckett.
Lucas Jun 26
127
on hemlock drive,
there is a yellow house,
it has a basketball hoop
that is about fifteen years old.

it has a child
who is dragging through photography,
video games,
baseball, marijuana,
allison, alcohol,
cigarettes, vicodin,
kelly, madison, painting,
broken hands, a toyota camry,
Marc's groceries, circle k,
underage purchase
and subsequent consumption,
kent state, skateboarding,
ecstasy, the bench,
basketball, moonshine,
nora, the twilight zone,
fear.

the child isn't there.
the child went to wichita
and got paid,
to have unprotected ***,
to drink dextromorphene
and turn 21, 22 and 23
in a dorm
in a house
in an apartment
by himself
LOADED UP
unhealthy

bars, bars, poetry, bars
late night visits
to skanks and unapproachable
daylights
tr'nele, giselle, jesse,
victoria, joe's sister,
all at once.
bars, bars,
garage in the fall,  the winter, the spring, the summer,
nichole, night terrors,
tanner as friend and competition, fall, winter
the ****** addict
in springfield, missouri,
nichole, qatar, nichole, mushrooms, acid, moana,
alcohol poisoning, a dog, investigations,
a new apartment, no more nichole,
yoga, MY dog, Lassie, 24,
25, the appalachian trail.

the child stayed in wichita.
I am here, now across
GA, NC, TENN, KY, OH,
MI, WI, MN, SD, CO, WY,
MT, ID...
i am.
Celestite Oct 2018
We pulled up in the drive way
If it weren't for my hello kitty flip flops, my feet would've melted into the cracks of the pavement.
Running up to ring the doorbell, and the smell of home rushing through my nose as I am greeted by hugs.
Kicking off my kicks, and letting the beige colored carpet mingle with the bottoms of my feet.
Leaping on to a couch that was stained with strawberry ice cream and memories.
The lace that trailed off the ends of the curtains danced as the breeze from an open winow came to say, "hello."
Splashing in a wading pool while grandma looked through Avon catalouges
sipping lemonade that we made prior, in a Disney Princess Sippy Cup.
I run up the stair into my room; sparkly purple bed sheets cover my bed and I crash.
All snuggled up in an ocean of blankets while everyone else watches the Steelers game downstairs.
As I dose off, half way through a dream filled with pink, grandpa woke me up; he said we were going out for ice cream!
I put on my favorite Little Mermaid shirt on and ran downstairs.
We all pile into an old BMW and start our journey to Sarris.
Nostalgia and city lights fill my eyes with wanderlust.
We park the car and rush to hop in line. When we order our ice cream we sit down in a red diner-hop booth.
Everyone together, MiMi, Papap, Mom, Dad, Victoria, Patty, G-G, and me.
And I don't know if it was eating powdered donuts on Sunday mornings
Or the way that Fresca tasted after eating a happy meal,
but visiting your house
in that small town in Pittsburgh
Is the only way that I can describe "home."
Terry Collett Aug 18
Mum said
Benny was at the door;
she made him wait
on the door step
while she carried on
sorting washing.

Where are you
going today?
she asked.

I said I didn't know
until I spoke with Benny,
and she said:
Well don't go too far;
I might have errands
for you to do.

She lit a cigarette,
and carried on sorting.

Benny turned
when I opened the door:
I don't think
your old lady
likes me much,
he said.

Just her way,
I replied.

Where you
want to go?
he asked.

Can't go too far,
I said,
Mum said she might
want me to go
on an errand;
where did you
have in mind?

Treasure Island,
he said,
straight faced.

No, really,
I said.

Victoria train station?
he said.

Is it far?
I asked.

As far as here
and back,
he said,
smiling.

My mum came to the door
behind me:
Well are you going out
or aren't you?
she said.

Victoria train station,
Benny said.

Too far,
she said.

Only a bus ride away,
he replied.

And who's going to pay
the blooming fare?
she said.

I've got two shillings,
he said.

Mum stared at him,
puffing out smoke:
Well don't go falling
in front of an effing train,
she said,
and turned
and went off again.

I went and got my coat,
and we set off
through the Square
and down the *****,
like two pilgrims
full of hope.
A boy and girl in London in 1958
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