She tugs gently at the spot
Where my poems hide
Scribbled dots of affection that might offer up
Something of value when tended by her gentle touch.
Sometimes, she needs to drag my poems from my heart
Like the heather stuck in the ice,
Their flowers still born,
Once freed come to life,
She walks along weathered, broken fences
Towards the garden gates
Long since shut,
Each step proud and elegant
I walk at her side and shuffle like some
Rusted-out old tractor
The engine afraid to turn
Afraid of that one churn,
Afraid of what that one spark might do,
As she walks, her train glows in the sunlight,
Her feet overturning my stones,
Shining the creative luminescence
On forgotten couplets
A waltz played on a broken piano
That somehow still pleases the ear
Rust is so difficult to live with
Even when you’re old
This is very moving and clever – love poems don’t normally do much for me, but the imagery is so clear and the feeling so carefully drawn with a refreshing lack of cliches. I look forward to the lovely lady drawing out more poems in future…. 🙂
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Thank you for your kind words. I try very hard to avoid cliched writing. In my view that is one of a writers biggest challenges, but sadly it also makes my muse harder to capture,
Have a great day, I look forward to reading more of your writing too!
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This is beautiful. The love and interdependence is evident in every line. I love that she tugs the heather from the ice. She is your inspiration and excels at her gift.
Beth
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Thank you very much. I truly appreciate your comments and your writings!
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