Not Lost in France
Poetry
Turning the Page.
Turning the Page.
Turning the pages
one by one,
there was
no other choice,
just like those
that I turned
last night,
or was it before ?
Those pages that
contained
what I’d written,
what I’d said,
what wasn’t
believed.
All these words
hidden between the
pages
so that I could
read between the lines.
The images they
covered
revealing
the story
they’d lived.
One by one
discovering
their past,
watching the clock
ticking,
looking to the
future,
and
beginning
to
wonder when I’d
discover,
how
to
turn
that
final
page.
David English © June 2008.
Turning the pages
one by one,
there was
no other choice,
just like those
that I turned
last night,
or was it before ?
Those pages that
contained
what I’d written,
what I’d said,
what wasn’t
believed.
All these words
hidden between the
pages
so that I could
read between the lines.
The images they
covered
revealing
the story
they’d lived.
One by one
discovering
their past,
watching the clock
ticking,
looking to the
future,
and
beginning
to
wonder when I’d
discover,
how
to
turn
that
final
page.
David English © June 2008.
We Can Dream.
Lingering on
the wrong side
of a
perfume,
turning his
head
to face
the inevitable
end
of a
race against
time.
The subtle perfumed
notes
that flowed
across her skin
not just
another
memory,
helping him
through
the night.
Embracing her
shadowy figure in
the light of
a candle
he’d held too
high
not to see
the shadows
those,
like his,
that
had
formed
her image
then
sinking into restless sleep
he dreamt once more
of a time
too far away to
matter,
when they would
eventually
meet.
David English © June 2008.
Lingering on
the wrong side
of a
perfume,
turning his
head
to face
the inevitable
end
of a
race against
time.
The subtle perfumed
notes
that flowed
across her skin
not just
another
memory,
helping him
through
the night.
Embracing her
shadowy figure in
the light of
a candle
he’d held too
high
not to see
the shadows
those,
like his,
that
had
formed
her image
then
sinking into restless sleep
he dreamt once more
of a time
too far away to
matter,
when they would
eventually
meet.
David English © June 2008.
Living, Loving.
Something in her
eyes
told me
the truth
and
I followed
her
path,
forgetting my own
as we
made
love.
Then she was
there again
disguised as a
promise
of
other lives,
and
holding her hand
in the rays
of
a
late
spring sunshine
I let her wash
away the
shadows
then,
turning
to see her,
I dried the
last remnants
of before
on the echoes
of
her
whispers.
David English © June 2008.
Something in her
eyes
told me
the truth
and
I followed
her
path,
forgetting my own
as we
made
love.
Then she was
there again
disguised as a
promise
of
other lives,
and
holding her hand
in the rays
of
a
late
spring sunshine
I let her wash
away the
shadows
then,
turning
to see her,
I dried the
last remnants
of before
on the echoes
of
her
whispers.
David English © June 2008.
Downtown.
Just one more
black coffee
served with a
smile
that lit the room,
then,
like
drifting smoke,
was gone.
Katie’s song
whispering through
the noise as he
settled into
the corner
of a
memory
comforted
by
its’
shadow.
Swarms of
yellow cabs
chasing the night
and
going nowhere
special
reflected in the
frosted glass
of a downtown
café.
Losing himself
in yet another winter
evening,
a coffee going cold
and
the
torn
photograph
of
what should have
been
his
life.
David English © June 2008.
Just one more
black coffee
served with a
smile
that lit the room,
then,
like
drifting smoke,
was gone.
Katie’s song
whispering through
the noise as he
settled into
the corner
of a
memory
comforted
by
its’
shadow.
Swarms of
yellow cabs
chasing the night
and
going nowhere
special
reflected in the
frosted glass
of a downtown
café.
Losing himself
in yet another winter
evening,
a coffee going cold
and
the
torn
photograph
of
what should have
been
his
life.
David English © June 2008.
Light and Time.
Time’s rushing by,
just like
the lights
of passing cars
on winter nights,
you left
them
for me to see
now and again
in early morning
dreams.
In those
eyes
that had held mine
in their gaze
those
evenings,
when,
with the softest of
music
whispering
throughout
the room
you gave
your body and your
soul
to mine.
David English © June 2008.
Time’s rushing by,
just like
the lights
of passing cars
on winter nights,
you left
them
for me to see
now and again
in early morning
dreams.
In those
eyes
that had held mine
in their gaze
those
evenings,
when,
with the softest of
music
whispering
throughout
the room
you gave
your body and your
soul
to mine.
David English © June 2008.
Summer.
It’s supposed
to be
summer,
and you’re
supposed to be here
in
my arms,
but the chilling echoes
I’m hearing
in this empty
room
just bring back
other
memories,
other
pains.
It’s supposed
to be
summer
and I’m locked
away in this
room,
playing with words
and
this silence,
waiting
for yours to
end.
David English © June 2008.
It’s supposed
to be
summer,
and you’re
supposed to be here
in
my arms,
but the chilling echoes
I’m hearing
in this empty
room
just bring back
other
memories,
other
pains.
It’s supposed
to be
summer
and I’m locked
away in this
room,
playing with words
and
this silence,
waiting
for yours to
end.
David English © June 2008.
