The hills are clear.
The nights are becoming
if not really warm, less cool.
On my dusk walk
people are about.
Dads are out in their sheds
or yarning from driveways.
Little kids, some in pyjamas,
bounce and squeal on a trampoline.
Two slightly older children
still in school uniform
walk their dog —
a puppy who wants to be friendly.
I scratch behind his ears
and tell him he's beautiful.
The girl holding the lead smiles.
I have been feeling the irony
of doing things now for myself only,
feeling the emptiness.
But after all, I always
did some things for me — the walks,
the meditations. Only he
was always there like a backdrop,
my backstop, at my back.
That night, before
he walked out into the dark,
he came and stood firmly behind me
with both hands on my shoulders
to give me energy because I was sick.
The warmth of his hands
was always magic. I walk
in fading light and think of him.
Submtted to dVerse Open Link Night #59
Some of these poems are autobiographical, some are entirely fictional, and some are a mixture of both. The intention is art rather than self-expression. I don't allow factual details to get in the way of poetry! (I do seek emotional truth.)
They are works in progress, and may be subject to revision without notice. Completed versions appear in my books. Nevertheless copyright applies to all texts found here.
Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your posts as much as possible.