By rain, by the colour of her hair, by the sweet, soft fragrance of her cheek
the curls fell and warmed my senses like fragrant oil warmed by a winter sun
she could never take a step by me, but by her own gentle manner and stealth
only times extravagant hands could mould feelings so hard and scarred
I met her on a Tuesa-day when a kite flew and hit the clouds in a bird’s egg sky
it were a bag of surprises that burst and spilled shapes, some honey and golden
it never dawned it was tangled wool in wild cherry branches, twisted and thorned
none were prettier, long-legged nor honest than the raven haired, rose hipped Colene
Not Betty Ball, not Mary Lane could catch a fire while my silken maid went a walkin’
or smiled, or tidied her hair for she and a garland of forest flowers were much sweeter,
she could lean like a willow ash, laugh like a spring of morning rain, speak so soft,
bite like mosquitoes, leave hearts raw, sore or kiss like peaches dressed in rose petals
it were a story never told nor finished
– POEM REVIEW – “I WANT TO READ THIS POEM”
I tried to write this poem, raw and straight from the heart just as a love poem should be. Countless people know that numbing, paralysing feeling of being ‘hurt’ in love.
That is what I have tried to capture. The raven haired beauty ‘ a gaelic darling who is blissfuly unaware of the damage she does until one day she feels that same raw, heart scrape of unrequited love. Its cold, simple, uncomplicated and painful. ~ Awh just shocking!