Where They Sat
This is where they sat
and watched the sea
and incoming tide.
Now he has gone.
The waves still come
in and go out regardless.
The sunset brings memories.
The way the sun sits on
the horizon like a Buddha
clothed in a red gown.
He held her hand on
these sands. They kissed
beneath that sun the warmth
like an embrace. It was
here that he spoke of love
and their future and the house
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poem by Terry Collett
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Not For Me
Not for me she said
I don’t want to end up
like my mother
I want to reach out
and touch real life
and not end up
some man’s wife
and be endlessly
at his beck and call
and she sat
by the pond
looking over
to the other side
where the woods were dense
and reached out
and touched your hand
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poem by Terry Collett
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Washing Windows
Your mother used to sit on the window
Ledge of the tenement building and
Wash the windows of each of the rooms.
She’d push back the shutters and just
Sit there with a bucket of warm water
And a cloth and wash away. You were
Always afraid she’d lean too far back
And fall out and down to the ground
Several storeys below with a heavy crash
And break bones or neck or maybe die.
But she’d just sit there her legs holding
Onto the wall beneath her and push her
Right hand holding the damp cloth
Over the glass while her left hand held
The metal bucket tight swishing the warm
Water as she moved back and forth like
Some lone trapeze artist on the high wire
Without apparent fear or knowledge of
Was going on in the street below with the
Passing of the walking dead as Father used
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poem by Terry Collett
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Helen Wiped Her Glasses
Helen wiped
her thick lens glasses
with the hem
of her school dress
and you watched
her finger and thumb
move around the glass
in circular motion
Can you see much
without your glasses?
you asked
she looked up at you
and said
Not much
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poem by Terry Collett
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Will One Day Go.
Sorry about
your granddad's death
Judith said
as you stood
beside her
by the pond
at the back
of the house
in the woods
the autumn sun
lighting up patches
of the water's skin
it was sudden
you said
my uncle told me
she took
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poem by Terry Collett
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Each Day Still Lingers.
Each day she’s there in the cafe
Sitting in the same seat with the
Same shopping bag and the same
Coat as she drinks tea and eats a
Large blueberry muffin which she
Eats without delicacy but a great
Deal of pleasure and as you sit you
Study her taking in each aspect of
Her right down to the way her black
Shoes have worn down at the heal
And the lone gold ring on her plump
Finger and you think maybe she was
Married and he got away or died or
Ran off with some younger or slimmer
Other and as you muse she raises her
Mug of tea and like a child she seems
To look at the inside of the mug as she
Lifts it up and maybe you think her grim
Mother told her off once for doing just
That and smacked her hand but now that
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poem by Terry Collett
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My bridegroom Lifts Me Up.
My bridegroom lifts me up
from the world's dark, said
Sister Clare, He holds me fast
against the world's clutches,
His touch heals my deepest
wounds, my many failures.
His eyes search me and see
me as I am; there is no pretence
in His presence, no maybe
in His words. He lifts away
from the false prophets and
lying religions, He shows me
His love in a thousand ways,
His love has no conditions, no
limitations, no world's whims.
He calls me out of darkness
with the slightest word, none
is worthy of Him, none seek
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poem by Terry Collett
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She Sinful Or Wild
All or nothing at all
her father had said
and it seemed right
until she met Harpoon
and he seemed her
Mr Right the one she
had been waiting for
the one she'd dreamed
about but then it all
went wrong and he
became Mr Wrong
and oh yes that was
the downfall that was
the way to her deep
depression and that
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poem by Terry Collett
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Visit to the Train Station.
You and Fay got off the bus
and walked towards Waterloo train station
and you said
I often come here
just to see and smell
and hear the steam trains
and she looked about her
at the sights and sounds
and smell of steam off the trains
at the platforms
and she said
I haven't been here
since my parents took us
to the seaside once
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poem by Terry Collett
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Time To Sit
A time to sit, the doctor said.
The room silent,
the walls a dull grey,
painted God knows when.
The chair uncomfortable,
hard on the arse.
You look around,
cock your ears,
sniff the air.
Tell me, the doc said,
do you hear voices?
The carpeted floor
beneath the feet.
The shoes touch it.
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poem by Terry Collett
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