Yesterday is a Maze.
History is bunk some one said.
History is an interpretation of
the past said another. Yesterday
is a lost land to Mother. Her half
blind eyes scan him and she says
who are you? He informs her,
but she is none the wiser. She just
smiles and looks away. Maybe she'll
remember him another day.
Nine months she carried him
within her womb. Her first born
whom she tended, fed and bred
and suckled, whom she nearly lost,
but saved and thought of in her
unclouded days. Dribble hangs
about her lips. Her words come
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poem by Terry Collett
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What might Have Been.
And you stood there arms folded
In that street in Dubrovnik wearing
That yellow shirt and that moustache
Like some Latin lover with other people
Passing by while you posed for some
Photograph and you thinking of that
Courier dame who came to your room
The day before because your brother
Said you were sick and she sat on your
Bed in her short skirt and said how are
You now? And all you could raise while
Lying there was a small smile and you
Said feeling pretty bad and she touched
Your brow and looking so sad and the
Photo shot done you go back to the table
With the glass of wine and that paperback
Book on Schopenhauer and the hot sticky
Afternoon sun and you wondering if the
Courier dame would have been a good lay
If you’d been feeling better on a different
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poem by Terry Collett
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Judo Practice.
You practiced
judo moves with Jim
on the grass
outside the farmhouse
where he lived
and his younger sister
stood on the periphery
watching the moves and falls
and she watched you
with her usual concentration
her eyes glued on you
her hands clapping
when you had Jim down
or made the right moves
and her mother
poked her head
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poem by Terry Collett
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Dunne Studying.
Dunne watches her mistress sleep.
There is the flickering of the eyelids
As if in dream. She gets out of bed
And with soft tread walks to her
Mistress’s bed side and looks down.
She holds her breath. She takes in
Each aspect of the face and neck
And how the hair is spread upon
The pillow. She wants to lean down
And kiss the lips, put flesh to flesh.
She hovers like some hawk waiting
To fly down and take her fine prey.
She breathes out slowly. She watches
The rise and fall of her mistress’s breast.
She moves out a hand to lay it there
But does not touch. She imagines so.
Imagines also climbing into the bed
And snuggling up close and kissing
The nape of neck. Her hand lingers
Over the breasts. Her eyes greedily
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poem by Terry Collett
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With Dogs
If you lie down with dogs
you’ll get fleas
Granddaddy said
and the stink’ll stick to you
and people’ll know
and you sat
next to him
in the garden
on that old seat
he made
out of cast off wood
and he said
keep to your own kind son
don’t get out
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poem by Terry Collett
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Mugging in Edinburgh
The Yank came in over night
and at breakfast that morning
in the Edinburgh hotel
he said
I was mugged last night
at the railway station
and your brother said
how comes that happened?
Well I was in the john
the Yank said
and someone banged
on the door of the stall
and said
open up I’m going to throw up
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poem by Terry Collett
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As Girls Sleep
She sleeps as only girls sleep
dreaming of babies and diamonds
or how that rich guy got away.
She slumbers with lips pressed tight.
Her eyes flicker like flames of
a new touched fire. Her hands lay
like guardians over her womb,
beneath her dress. She dreams
of his lips. Pressed close, skin on skin.
Once upon a dream she made love
to her sister's husband. Once upon
a nightmare her husband kissed her
upon her vagina. In deep sleep she
smells of ashes from Auschwitz, her
mother's family perished amongst flames.
She rubs her nose in sleeps' hold,
scratches her head with unpainted
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poem by Terry Collett
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Depression and Black dog
She rises from bed and stares
out the window. Another day.
No new horizons. Why do
people talk such crap, she muses,
senses the hangover bite in.
He said it was just a sex thing,
no strings, see what a new
tomorrow brings. Her mother
had this thing about what the
neighbours said, how things
looked from another's perspective.
There is a damp patch where
her hand has touched, blood,
bright red. She sees him or rather
his outline in the dark of the night
before. All ten minutes of excitement,
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poem by Terry Collett
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Fat Dame in Maine.
You know the fat dame in Maine
Whose husband used to carry a
Gun for the Mob until they banged
Him up for shooting some guy in
The head? Well she rang Eddie the
Other night and said why don’t you
Come over and spend a little time
With me? And Eddie said sorry Honey
But I’m washing my hair then I’m sitting
Down with a JD and going to listen to
Some jazz and maybe get in a take away
And so the fat dame said ok then I’ll
Come over to you and dry your hair
And share the JD and bring a pizza and
Snuggle up close and listen to some jazz
And maybe later we can hit the sack and
Make some hot sex and dig deep into each
Other so Eddie said hang on there Babe
I’ve just now remembered my mother’s
Coming to see my new pad and I’m taking
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poem by Terry Collett
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With Fay on a Bus.
The bus moved away
from the bus stop
and Fay sat next to you
her body rocking
side to side
with the motion
of the bus
her knees pushing
against each other
her hands in a prayer like pose
upon her knees
Are you going
to the cinema?
she asked
Yes
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poem by Terry Collett
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