Perusing Plato
By Silver Spun Sand
Sun, 02 Feb 2014
- 1452 reads
4 comments
1 likes
Sitting here – the wind, howling
down the chimney, I turn my mind
to more mundane things.
The way I seem to gain some kind of comfort
from stacking my CDs in alphabetical order;
knowing there are fresh towels, sprinkled
with lavender in the bathroom.
That the cat is in – the cat-flap locked
on such a night as this.
On the table by my chair, a vase – full
of Agapanthus he bought last Friday;
past their prime now, and decaying,
slowly, and I know that flowers,
like all living things must die, only
I can’t help but marvel at how they do it,
so beautifully, and with each petal’s fall
wonder if they know they’re obeying
the greatest, most fundamental law
of all.
And thinking, too, of the night
we first met, when he pinned
violets in my hair,
and we watched
fern fronds unfold – his shirt
half undone...it was a blazing July.
A hint of a tan...a flash
of flesh that turned me on...
the me that I was then – just
turned seventeen.
A picture etched on my mind;
perfect
in its imperfections.
The mere idea of it
immortalised
by these few lines.
- Log in to post comments
Comments
1 User voted this as great feedback
I wondered if your memory of
Permalink Submitted by catherine poarch on
I wondered if your memory of it is the same now that you have put it into words? I love all the small detail you put into your poems and how those small things can trigger a memory and one leads to another. I liked it a lot but for some reason the word agapanthus slips so beautifully into it and the fern fronds unfolding also caught my eye - or is that ear?
- Log in to post comments
I love this poem, it makes me
I love this poem, it makes me feel young again. I facebooked it. You are very good!
maisie Guess what? I'm still alive!
- Log in to post comments