Angels

Wimbledon - Game - Set and Match.

Marching, swaggering, at the head of his troops,

Arms swinging, rifles gleaming, in perfect stride.

The people all smiling, waving, some even crying,

For the all knew that we were back from Dunkirk;

Now to rest, retrain on Wimbledon Common.



The assistants of that posh hairdressing salon,

Leaned out of the windows on the first floor.

They waived and smiled like everyone else-

So many faces, intermingled in one vision.



Then I saw her, that beautiful face standing out;

Encircled by lucious, shining auburn hair.

A Goddess right there, on Wimbledon High Street;

I new I was possessed by that lovely creature.



Searching in vain each time I was free,

Waiting,spying, trying in any way to meet her.

Then one day on Guard Duty I saw her-

Cycling along, head in the air, enjoying her ride,

That beautiful hair out-shining the sun.



This vision came slowly towards me,

So I stepped out, demanding she stop.

She was startled and furious that.

a soldier should accost a civilian.

Taken aback, I thought I had blown it.



Quickly rethinking my unsubtle approach,

I smiled and explained that I thought I knew her,

Having seen her looking down from above the shop,

But I now knew that I was mistaken-

That other person did not possess her beauty.



So please could I make up for a silly mistake?

And escort her to tea, coffee, cinema, anything!

She stared at me harshly"What a damn cheek!"

Looking over her shoulder as she cycled away,

She smiled and said"I'mfree tomorrow, Ileave the shop at one".

So I went back on guard duty, another job well done.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

First meeting with my wife,Gwen, 1940-- we are still together.

View taffy's Full Portfolio
tags:

The Wanderer

The green grass blows,

while the blue sky shines.

The lively waters crash,

while along float the brine.



The sun high in the sky,

the clouds float along.

I wander on earth until,

one day I'm gone.



My heart hums a lonley tune,

for it hears a sad song.

As alone by myself I go,

until I go.



Along I stumble across the grass,

I march across the sandy shore.

Through the water I wade,

alone I walk,I go some more.



I hum my sad tune,

as I walk along alone.

No one hears as before,

A lost soul, disgarded, thrown.



My words no longer heard,

they are all lost to the wind.

They fly through the air,

like hair that is not pinned.



My weeping tears,

turn to mist.

For long ago,

was my last kiss.



My boy is long dead and gone,

and I have followed him.

My unpeaceful soul,

and that unfaithful Kim.



It's no use now,

in hate since I'm gone.

So for now and ever,

alone I go an walk along.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Megs typed half of this :) Hehehe. My bad ... ignore me ... I'm Megs ... LOVE ME! "Leigh" is always too lazy to put comments anyway ... *she just slapped me! ARGH!*
   Any way don'y mind her, this poem means alot to me because it reminds me of how life can be lonley and stuff any way
                    g2g luv always  ME  so surf safe  :)

View westville_hobo's Full Portfolio
tags:

Angel Gardens

(for Michele, w/love)



Tender and forgiving

of past sins, long ago heartaches,

he loves, openly

she trusts, a new.



Building those sandcastles,

lending hope to futures

threatened

w/the tide’s

lunar rapture.



And still,

he rests

a gentle offering

before her supine form,



even as

she lets

those defenses down,

exposed to his whims.



Both rest,

waiting for each other’s

breath

to fill

two empty souls

w/love and truth and hope,



away from life,

safe in sweet embrace,

content in Angel Gardens.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written for a very special lady.

View rodcarlosstryker's Full Portfolio
tags:

"Until the Angels Fear It"

by Jeph Johnson

 

self-inflicted
masochistic
mutilation of the female form
feminine passivity
vs
bloody nativity
male aggression
means
lost possessions
yet it defeats depression
not at all the norm
undefended
wounds
intended
to tear deep and red
knives cut
to shreds,
she's bled
&
shaved so clean
razors severing reasoning
slicing twice in half
gashed, incised
her epitaph
captured in a photograph
pornographic
sinful
skin
empty flesh is less
that a full spirit
until the angels fear it

Author's Notes/Comments: 

2001 

View daddyo's Full Portfolio
tags: