(It wasn't the fact that Amy Winehouse died today
but more that so many talented people squander their gifts).
Today is black,
and deathly quiet
the music lies under a veil of black.
A tormented life has now turned black,
and talent stifled, in vague outline
is coloured in black.
Notes and words on vellum
of beauteous youth
now play starkly black,
charred and burnt.
© Graham Sherwood 7/2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Retrospect
(An observation on the irrelevance of things
that were once both important and beautiful).
Cold bedclothes strewn, abandoned parachutes
occasionally billow in rhythm to
this winter chill in summer’s sun.
I drift back to the reality of a day
from the smoking tallow of a night
blinking quickly, thinking slowly.
There the door awaits, open for me to fall through
once again bringing all my uncollected baggage
to stack neatly on your mat.
We were all beautiful once but didn’t know,
then, unhindered by regrets and
without the knowledge of the life to come.
Behind our banal conversations
we hear those old songs that
were the wallpaper of our past,
now abused in advertisements for goods
we’ll never need or want.
Now sadness for those wondrous never-ending days,
when touching flesh, hearing words and seeing love
rebounding from your lovely eyes
was all that mattered.
© Graham Sherwood 7/2011
that were once both important and beautiful).
Cold bedclothes strewn, abandoned parachutes
occasionally billow in rhythm to
this winter chill in summer’s sun.
I drift back to the reality of a day
from the smoking tallow of a night
blinking quickly, thinking slowly.
There the door awaits, open for me to fall through
once again bringing all my uncollected baggage
to stack neatly on your mat.
We were all beautiful once but didn’t know,
then, unhindered by regrets and
without the knowledge of the life to come.
Behind our banal conversations
we hear those old songs that
were the wallpaper of our past,
now abused in advertisements for goods
we’ll never need or want.
Now sadness for those wondrous never-ending days,
when touching flesh, hearing words and seeing love
rebounding from your lovely eyes
was all that mattered.
© Graham Sherwood 7/2011
Friday, July 08, 2011
Eyelight
(Pure idle melancholy and nothing more).
Today’s Tuesday sun is butterscotch
a creamy brightness, eager
to rinse away the dew soaked dawn.
Here we sit like executioners preparing to lynch
the only thing hanging, the silence
perfectly executed by us both.
This suspense, determined as we watch our lives expire
holding loving hands,
our wishes stuffed into manilla envelopes
bribes to our inheritance.
© Graham Sherwood 7/2011
Today’s Tuesday sun is butterscotch
a creamy brightness, eager
to rinse away the dew soaked dawn.
Here we sit like executioners preparing to lynch
the only thing hanging, the silence
perfectly executed by us both.
This suspense, determined as we watch our lives expire
holding loving hands,
our wishes stuffed into manilla envelopes
bribes to our inheritance.
© Graham Sherwood 7/2011
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