Monday, August 16, 2010

The Hand That's Dealt

Little house I used to live in

What have you got
When you leave it all behind?
A handful of smoke; perfume on the wind

Walking up the hill with the kids in tow
In another life
The camera bumps against my hip

Graffiti on the bus shelter
Creative urge pulling; lifting
Like a toe dipped in a fast flowing river

It chokes behind my eyes
The sadness of all those photographs
The taste so strong; so lost

Today is not enough
I cannot make it suit my needs
Cannot rescue it from the past

5 comments:

Zaina Anwar said...

Beautiful!

Pisces Iscariot said...

Thank you Zaina :]

Harlequin said...

you do poignancy masterfully; sadness and wistfulness never read so good.

Moineau En France said...

darling! a confessional poem! loved it, pisces, "perfume on the wind" (sigh). xoxoxooxox

Pisces Iscariot said...

Harlequin: Sometimes the only way to overcome the nostalgia is to put it down on 'paper'

Laura: They're all confessional poems, some are just more cryptic than others :)

X-Rated Word Verification: CORNFACK (!)