Back to more serious stuff today -- well, it is Sunday.
The following is a poem written by my man, Alex, in July 1973. I love it and hope you do!
Bedraggled face wet with confusion, fear,
hangs like a hooked fish among fishermen
limp. All others moving from a to b
and him between, somewhere between the two.
Someone lands him, reels him into their eyes
with gentle words, assurance; a warm voice
knowing the area, leads him, small hand
by larger one, back to familiar sounds,
known aromas and silhouettes that he
is unafaid to embrace. The frank womb
where he may unravel his torn stomach.
Safe now, child, caught in childhood's governed net.
But in the bigger sea, the open world,
often-- no warm voice nor old face to kiss.
Nothing I can add to this today, I find it both painful and joyous sifting through the mountain of work that Alex left. Perhaps I need someone to advise me on ' copyright'! Have a good day everybody, enjoy your partner!
- MORE ABOUT ALEX
- THE WHITE HERON
- SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW............
- TRUTH -- poem for wednesday
- MEN AT WORK ON THE POOL
- SUNDAY IN FRANCE
- PLEASE NOTE Any poems or writings attributed to A...
- CHERRY RIPE
- BLOWING A RASPBERRY!
- THANK GOODNESS!
- Evening in France
- BEDROOM SCENE
- Poem for today
- Derran Brown mindreader or majician ?
- My Lovely three dogs
- CHILD LOST
- last excerpt from " Eunuchs of the World Unite"
- not all sad
- 2nd and 3rd of the three poems - 1973
- Memories of a man I once shared my life with
- ▼ Jan (21)