Thursday, March 01, 2007

Apart from You

I've never been particularly happy with this poem, but I don't get all that many requests, so, Shirley, I dug it out of the filing cabinet.

Apart from you, there have been none.
Yes, I have stared. I looked at one
who walked like leaves caught in a breeze.
I pictured this, remembered these.
Piffle. Trifles. Bagatelles.
Our bed at night remembers, tells
me more than I should know. It makes
too little noise. I wake. It wakes
shadows of colors, and once a light,
though briefly, shook apart the night.
I must be done. I am undone
apart from you. There have been none.


Shirley said...

Thank you, Richard.

It's one to remember. I've saved, Storyville and Accommodations of the Snowman, as well.

Why_why_why said...


This is different from your usual stolid masculine pentamenter. This is very touching in a human way – reminds me a little of Emily Dickinson’s ballads.
Charlotte Bronte’s “Mr. D’Arcy – I am undone” springs to mind also.

Mr.0'Why (Why am I?)

RHE said...

Mr Darcy isn't from Charlotte Bronte. Nor Emily. Nor Anne. Not even Branwell.

Don't you have somewhere else you need to be?