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Keith Bettesworth Poem
I am the smile behind the welcome
The hand that opens your door
The basket to collect your laundry
Clearing your dirty plates from the floor
I am the bleached raw ragged fingers
Burnt in the scalding basin
The spotless glass to serve your poison
The soft pillow to bury your face in
I am the swollen hungry belly
Of the dusty child you do not see
The moths on the backdrop of a glittering stage
The wire that binds mothers to be free
I am the cobwebbed elderly lady
Waiting quietly on my turn
My milky eyes watery and grey
To see the great flame roar and burn
And after the races have all been run
And the gold is but a glowing ember
After vanity has left on that majestic bird
Only then will you remember
It was me that you noticed on that cracked tar road
With no one to hear my story
Of how I have carried my own Olympic flag
Long before the crowds, the lights and the glory!
Copyright © Keith Bettesworth | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Keith Bettesworth Poem
Dust shed from long - gone memories
Old clothes cleared from the corners of dark closets
Cobweb caked, stained over time
(It no longer fits)
(Is this mine?)
(Wait a minute...i remember!)
Orange Happiness.
Mayfair.
The faded sunshine print on an old dress.
Like thin cardboard.
An old song.
Silently retreating into the corner.
Tendrils of string.
An echo.
(I have been waiting for you)
Dirt under my nails.
Dust smeared accross my sweaty December brow like thin oily brush strokes by Cezanne.
And still time for the soul is different somehow. Undeterred by gravity.
Dizziness. Inertia.
(Where are you going? Please don't leave me.)
Slipping away.
Floorboards crumbling beneath my feet like thin sun-baked clay.
Grapping onto old friends by their snaky cobwebs, my fingers ripping through their time - torn clothes. Slipping away into the Grey.
Falling.
(what am i doing here...?)
"...hello Granny! We've come to visit you! Do you know remember us?"
Copyright © Keith Bettesworth | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Keith Bettesworth Poem
Break the ties that bind me
Taught wire cutting through vibrant thoughts
soft texture of my mind ensnared
Dreams gushing blood
Like a big ball of dough in a small wire basket
Ready to be baked in the over
Fresh bread for them to feast on
Copyright © Keith Bettesworth | Year Posted 2016
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