You are currently browsing all posts tagged with 'poetry'.

Through my eyes

  • Posted on June 22, 2013 at 8:44 am

Never mind the shoes, never mínd the mile
climb up inside me, reach over my smile

Adjust your seat, be comfy, and rise
until without strain you see through my eyes

Watch me knock, push the bell, and feel the start
where love is a stranger – yet still draws my heart

Scan books that tell stories of holidays and times
I, reading science and she, reading crimes

Climb steps to the loft, find childhoods stored
rummage things forgotten, and toys once adored

Feel grass underfoot where I mowed, where I lay
smell the flowers, stroke the cats, let it all go away

Clear the shed where the wood is cut into shapes
of parts of my home, of my heart, of my hopes

And now watch me turn, watch me leave it behind
see the images blur until we are blind

Is it something I said? Is it something I did?
Was I harsh or unloving? Infidelities hid?

Did I fall? Did I fail, for this all to be gone?
It was none of these things, just the way I was born.

 

2013 © Andie Davidson

I dreamed a dream

  • Posted on June 3, 2013 at 9:58 pm

Talking about poetry with others, and my excitement at discovering flexibility in my forms, I found myself explaining the background to Not Rising. That seems unfair on you who can only read my blog (if you’re interested, that is!) But it explains the layers in the poem, and the echoes ran through my weekend just passed, in France with a concert band, in the midst of Reims’ Joan of Arc festival. Some time in late spring last year, I went to a Suzanne Vega concert in Brighton with my PSA (previously significant other). The end was in sight for my…

Discharged memories

  • Posted on May 27, 2013 at 9:03 am

Tangle of wires, these threads of lives,
disconnects between phones with
histories now lost in silence in a drawer
in a box of decisions, of memories

electrical elements, complex, elementary
useful without understanding, currency
with potential to make happen, happy,
sad, lose, lost times, lost friends. Lives

lost in a box of decisions, to keep, rejoin
find phones, find friends, find family, or
finally forget and forgive and forsake. Spread
on a carpet of decisions, coiled, laid out

in a mortician’s pattern of cold preparation
of the inevitable under silent eyes
of the accepting bereaved. Nothing flows
in the untangling, connections draw nothing

together again. In the box. In the drawer. In this
burial of so many conversations.

 

2013 © Andie Davidson

And for the joy of poetry and the page, try this (read it how you like):

Not rising

  • Posted on May 25, 2013 at 9:54 pm

Rainstorm of fingers and palms
surging, dwindling—a last burst
dissembling to spits and spots as stage lights
fade and die.

Unpeopled, the set becomes
pretence and flimsy and flat,
performers are unperforming, becoming
you and I.

Arms unfurl their sleeves
fill wide as wings and fall
as a restless flock preparing to turn
rise and fly.

But I am still, lost in thought
memories flood my mind
of last time, of that time, we were here
you and I.

Every dry feather departs,
the last sweep falls quiet,
seats become velvet walls again, muffle my
final sigh.

 

2012 © Andie Davidson

(at a Suzanne Vega concert, Brighton 2012)

Amour

  • Posted on May 25, 2013 at 9:29 pm

This is love in armour, no
fluffy pink besotted
falling apart in haze, no
magic dust scattered in hair
the sparkle is the polish, on
our armour.

This is love played safe, no
flung-wide doors and hearts
ablaze and calling freely, no
wonder in the whirlwind here
our walls are what we touch, in
playing safe.

This is love defended, no
arms laid around forsaken
by empty hands made open, no
abandoned space for playing here
we stand alert and ready, in
our defence.

This is love spoken in dialect, no
easy understanding, natural
learned-from-the-child phrase, no
instant recognition from ear to heart
but defended, safe, strong, in
love with an r.

 

2013 ©&#nbsp;Andie Davidson