Monday, May 10, 2010

Unreal Image - a sort of poem.

Written after a visit with Penny, my second daughter, to a Tandoori restaurant  at Croxley Green, near London. My home was a 50ft. narrowboat ( a steel canal-boat with the standard 6ft. beam for England's narrow waterways.) moored nearby at the time. She was about 19, and starting to listen as an adult while I was starting to hear what I was saying to her.   This post is to thank Juliana for her kind words.

We were speaking
In our low Tandoori voices,
And we glowed with waxen glamour
In the rosy tungsten sun-set.
And the words were spiced with wit.
But I felt her eyes too closely
Following my lips.

And the rest were shining
With their Friday evening wise-talk,
Gossip, soapy wisdom.
But I felt my words were nothing, 
That her eyes would crack the shell
And destroy an unreal image.
And perhaps it's just as well.

1 comment:

  1. It's a fine and poignant line they cross, when they become adults and find out about the man behind the curtain. Beautiful poem, Bob.


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