April 9, 2005

• “Empty Chairs”, poems 66-74.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  woke up to chew
  

  
  

  an indigestion tablet,
  

  
  

  and found myself laughing
  

  
  

  at your fingers
  

  
  

  writing on my hand.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  one good thing
  

  
  

  about being blind,
  

  
  

  i can hold
  

  
  

  my gay lover’s arm
  

  
  

  in the street!
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  to the edge of the light,
  

  
  

  and beyond:
  

  
  

  my blind love for you
  

  
  

  has it’s own eyes.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  feeling the silk of the water
  

  
  

  as i swim
  

  
  

  into your unseen arms.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  waking up
  

  
  

  to hear your heart pounding
  

  
  

  next to mine
  

  
  

  and your sleeping arm
  

  
  

  on my back.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  waiting for you at the door
  

  
  

  and tasting a snow-flake
  

  
  

  on my tongue.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  i smile, and move outside
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  and i hear you squashing
  

  
  

  up the drive.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  i loved you
  

  
  

  from the first time you spoke
  

  
  

  and woke up
  

  
  

  my silence.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  i’m playing my poems back
  

  
  

  on my tape-recorder,
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  were you laughing then
  

  
  

  or are you laughing now?
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  The Poet known as “Empty Chairs”

  
  

   

  
  

   

  
  

  Lord Pineapple Next…

  
  

  
  ————–

  
  

  
  

  I nodded and held my beer,
  

  
  

  It had been a warm evening
  

  
  

  But now it was getting chilly
  

  
  

  And drops of rain flew in the wind.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  “I know what I am” I said,
  

  
  

  Half in bitterness, half in the knowledge
  

  
  

  It will always be thus.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I could not help it,
  

  
  

  I remember my father hitting me
  

  
  

  All those years ago
  

  
  

  For being mildly autistic,
  

  
  

  For fearing the unknown
  

  
  

  For easily getting lost
  

  
  

  And panicking.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  “I’m sorry” I said,
  

  
  

  As she left her lemonade.
  

  
  

  We shook hands
  

  
  

  When once we kissed.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  It had never went further
  

  
  

  Than a kiss.
  

  
  

  I knew it would not.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I watched her go,
  

  
  

  The tears in my eyes matching
  

  
  

  The tears in the rain.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  It was a long walk home,
  

  
  

  I did once think of throwing myself
  

  
  

  Into the river.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  But what did I expect?
  

  
  

  Romance?
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Between a woman who had everything
  

  
  

  And a poet who had nothing?
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I picked up a dream somewhere
  

  
  

  But it wasn’t my dream,
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  It belonged to the silence.
  

  
  

  
  —

  
  

  Lord Pineapple

  
  

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  On the Three_Headed_Sarahs is more info on the Sarahs’ farewell party plus “The best of The Sarahs’” including a real filthy piece of prose!

  
  

   

  
  

  The_Clowne_from_Clown  new! Nostalgia time! about rugby, being a war-correspondent and why my mortality does not frighten me. Read it, it’s better than my poetry!

  
  

   

  
  

  Beautiful and sad poetry from a broken hearted genius, for that is what she is, I set my reputation  that dancing_pen will one day be a famous American poet. Buy her books at   http://www.lulu.com/dancing_pen

  
  

   

  
  

  There’s my latest book “Bubble & Squeak” of course, but such is the post I haven’t had my copies yet, though American buyers have!

  • 6:20 pm
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