Not Lost in France
Poetry
I Thought You Were There.
I thought,
for an instant,
that, you were
there.
I thought
I saw your smile,
but, smoke,
to quote
a song,
got in my eyes,
in the
café,
where a dark
haired girl,
laughed out loud
on that winter
morning.
I thought,
for an instant,
that, you were
there,
when a voice
whispered,
« I Love You »
from afar,
but the noise
in the café
drowned out
the words
you'd said.
I thought,
for an instant,
that, you were
there,
when a light breeze
caressed my brow
as before.
I felt your
touch
and
smiled,
a dark haired girl
in the café
smiled back.
I laughed at
the illusion
and finishing
my coffee,
I left the café
wishing that
you'd
been
there.
Illusion Three.
that
dark haired girl
in the
café,
the one
who smiled?
I met her.
She had laughing
eyes and
something else,
another life,
a butterfly life,
flitting
from
one lover's arms
into another's,
then finally,
into mine?
Others had
tried
in vain to
hold her.
I'd thought,
"this is where
it stops!"
I'd seen
the signs,
but ignored
the warning!
I wish I'd
broken those
fragile,
silver wings,
that allowed
her to
escape from
one lover's
arms into
another's,
then finally,
into mine?
When the signal
turned to
red, it
was really
too late,
finding myself on
the rocky path
of one more
personal
disaster.
But love is
ignorant.
I'd held her
and loved
her,
that dark haired girl,
the one with
the laughing
eyes, who'd
been in one
lover's arms,
then another's
and then
finally,
into
mine?
Dave English (c) March 2007.
Illusion.
the scent
of your
warmth
under
falling water,
wishing your
body
close to
mine.
Remembering
the
struggle
as we
fought
through the
illusions
to reach
our
reality.
Clear water
as soft
as your
caress
on my
tired
framework
healing the
ache of
another
absence.
The illusion
that offered
body and soul
to my hunger
lighting the
way.
Drying
the
pain
and smiling,
seeing
your
mirrored
reflection in
the
mist
of a
recent past.
Dave English (c) January 2007.
Jenny.
with the
stars,
playing at
love,
taking it
when she
finds it
for the
briefest of
moments.
Jenny's holding it
in her heart,
remembering
other
promises,
sad eyes
betraying her
smile
as she holds my
hand
and sings
words I
don't understand.
Then she's off,
running through
space,
blowing memories
to the stars
to catch
the illusion
that haunts
her
dreams, and
in a
whirlwind's
shadow,
I'm left
to run
after my own
illusions
in the
stargest of
cosmic
races.
Dave English(c) March 2007.
Gypsy Queen.
the smile that
hurt the
most.
The one
I remember,
the one she
used to
capture, by
surprise,
those
who crossed
her path.
Quickly
hypnotized,
they fell,
one at a
time
for the
other charms.
Her voice,
her eyes,
the soft
flesh
that yielded
so easily
to the
victim's
caress.
She knew
that winning
was easy,
photos
from other
sentimental
safaris
proved
it.
The art of
deception, real
or imagined,
her only strategy
for survival
in a land
without
love.
Dave English(c) March 2007.
Finding Your Way.
You took
your
time
to see which path
you should
have
taken
knowing there
was
no
turning back.
You took
the one
that
led nowhere,
blinded by
your
dreams
and disasters,
taking the
one that
took you away,
little by
little,
from the
truth.
Running scared,
you hang
onto
your illusions
and me,
to mine.
Dave English © April 2007.
