Friday, March 11, 2011

"Brief Visit"


I've swallowed many a bitter fruit,
Served by you,
With a smile I always trusted to be sincere.

I ignore the whispers behind my back
And once again make the journey to see you.
My smile mirrors your own as you stand before me,
To greet me,
Your "I love you" hanging beside your head
Like a word balloon in a comic strip.

I reach out to touch what I think is you.
Too late, I realize that it isn't you at all
(At least, not the "you" I'd hoped to see again
After all this time!),
But instead, a false sheet of stiff paper
Bearing your image.

As the beckoning, deceitful photograph of you
Collapses and tumbles to the ground,
Taking its "I love you"
And all of my hopes with it,
I feel the cold and familiar steel
Of the knife -- your knife -- as it strikes my back.

Saved yet again by my calluses!
I'm toughened, but never hardened, you see.
I grant myself few limitations
But have the sense to see them where they exist.
I am honestly, truly content
To enjoy the beauty
Of life's many rainbows
Without ever expecting or demanding
A pot of gold at their end.

Your blade falls, broken and useless.
I step forward, never looking back to see the real you.
Instead, I glance downward wistfully,
Looking at your false but loving image,
Which lies crumpled on the ground
Along with so many cherished memories from the past.

I step around the life-size photograph.
(Around it, but not upon it.)
Then, as always,
I continue walking along my private path.

Same time next year, my dear one?

*  *  *  *  *

To paraphrase Sigmund Freud, "Sometimes a poem is only a poem."

Every so often, I'll write a short story or a poem which has absolutely nothing to do with my personal life, but one or more of my readers infer(s) that it does. So, just for the record, let me state that at the moment, I am on very good terms with all of my friends, relatives, and loved ones.

Again, to paraphrase Sigmund Freud, "Sometimes a poem is only a poem."

The copyrighted illustration at the top of the page is a papercut by the immensely talented Suzy Taylor at Folk Art Papercuts, and is used with her very gracious permission! A perusal of her site and her intricate creations will surely impress you, as it did me.

Thanks for your time.


  1. For some reason this brought tears to my eyes...too real, I guess.
    Very good work!

  2. haha...this sounds like a few family gatherings I've been to myself!

  3. the cutwork art...thanks for the link!

  4. I'm just imagining if Herr Doktor Freud was alive to-day...OY!

    AS fae th' art ,we had a bloke tha' lived near me tha' did a lot of scrimwork wi' luan plywood. Quite remarkable...

  5. Defintely been to those gahterings at some point, making my nose go all out of joint.
    Then I run away and wait until they have something sensible to say.
    Freud went on about a lot, one of these days he'll get caught.
    And be all wrong, as one sings a different song.
    Or maybe he will always be right, and I'll never win a fight.
    Nice little poem it was, even though you wrote it just because

  6. @Rhymetime:

    So glad you liked my little poem
    Of those who can be hateful
    To those that they profess to love,
    While adding to their plate-full.
    They show their inner selves, resembling
    Toads and snakes and frogs,
    Attacking others on the 'net
    In emails and in blogs.

  7. While I did see your post, as I was driving up the coast.
    Didn't know if you wanted a retort, or for me to keep it short.
    So now I know and away I go.
    I'd change the frog to hog
    As some can really be mean, especially when it comes to the green.
    When that subject comes about, I just run out.
    Yes with the internet now, it's just one big wow.
    At how much they rant on stupid things like Facebook, I don't even bother to look.
    I mean who really cares if you "went to the bathroom" does that need to be shared among all the other gloom.
    It's best to ignore the crap as much as you can and just cook up a hen.
    As those that truly matter, won't sit around getting fatter.
    Whining about you and others to everyone and their mothers.
    Family, friends or strangers, none that truly care will ignore the dangers.
    And never go to far, blowing out your shooting star.
    Now how was that? Do you approve of this cat?

  8. Fear not, newfound friend,
    Comments need never end.
    Though I crave the last word
    I won't flip you "the bird."

  9. I like to get the last word too, but can't really over you.
    As you can just delete me and then you get the last word free.
    So I can never win here, but have no fear.
    As I'll come back on the rhyme attack.
    Even if you flip me the bird, for being a little turd.

  10. It's true that I could just delete
    A comment. That's an easy feat.
    But some
    subscribe to follow-ups;
    They'd see the ones I swallow up.
    Though I'd put comments on the shelf,
    Alas, I'd only fool myself!

  11. Damn you just keep egging me on, we could be at this well past dawn.
    Giving those that subscribe either a good or bad vibe.
    Depending on how they see the rhymes and whether or not I'm in my prime.
    As some days I might get sloppy and my rhymes might turn out floppy.

  12. Yes...a poem may be just a poem, but I'm not a fan of Freud. Even those ones I wrote that were supposed to mean nothing, shared secrets I didn't know I was exposing. Thus the risk with sharing them! Yes...took me ages to work up the nerve! Mind you, I had no idea there were awesome folks like you floating around cyberspace...had I known, I would have been here to see all of these for their premier! Now I know...and I'm not one to let go! Fair warning! You're in trouble now! And...thus completes my evening reading, just as I promised! You stole my prime time! The nerve ;) Can't wait to see your latest poem...And I do sincerely hope I won't have to wait long. Oh, dear Lord...the nagging starts! And a huge THANK YOU, btw, for exposing me to a whole new you ;)

  13. Actually, the poem was not about me, but it was written about a situation involving one of my closest, dearest friends whom I love very much. Her pain became my own.


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