Holy Saturday Gains and Losses
Holy Saturday. Lulu softly rubs her
Black rosary held between fingers.
The church cold and dark. Waiting
For the light. The candle brought by
The priest and others of his ilk to bring
Light to the darkness. Rudandoff stands
Still silent in shadows watching her
Outline in candlelight's glow. Lulu feels
Smooth wood on fingers and thumb
Mutters her pure prayers watching
The candle light up the darkness.
Rudandoff smells her the scent
Touching him the shine of her hair
Caught by passing light her profile
Moves him her moving fingers stirs
His dark embers stiffen his manhood.
The holy candle brings light to the
Church. The priest and others chant
Out the long prayers. Lulu's soft lips
Kiss the crucified Christ on her crucifix
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poem by Terry Collett
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Pushing One Leg Anne
Push me
through the avenue of trees
Anne said
I'm pissed off with the kids
asking how I lost my leg
and so you pushed
the wheelchair
along the avenue
out of sight of others
away from their childish chatters
and ball games
and cries of want and woes
go on you skinny arse
push push
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poem by Terry Collett
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No Sex ith Her.
No she would never agree to
Having sex it somehow seemed
Something she couldn’t have
Something in her past had damaged
That aspect of her but she didn’t mind
Being held by you or cuddled to a degree
And kissed provided no one else
Was watching and some nights in bed
As you lay next to her (when she hadn’t
Fled to another bed in another part of
The house) she’d allow you to draw her
Near to you and maybe touch certain
Parts of her anatomy but not too much
And it got frustrating for you and she’d
Say Leo I know this is hard for you but
You do love me don’t you and you’d say
Yes of course I do and lie saying I don’t
Mind a bit not having sex it means nothing
To me and she didn’t know about you and
The maid Millie up in the attic the one she
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poem by Terry Collett
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While Waiting for the Boys
You lay your bike
against the fence
and headed towards
the farmhouse
but Monica came out
of the house
and stood in front
of the door
where you going
with the boys?
she asked
the cinema
you replied
what are you going to see?
Kissing Cousins
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poem by Terry Collett
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Her Black Fog
The depression moves in on her
Like a dark fog. It seems to suck
All interest in life and events
From her mind so that she sits
And stares from the window like
One dying slowly over the month.
Outwardly she seems quite fine.
Little quiet perhaps. Not her usual self.
None of her unstoppable laughter and joy.
She hates it when the fog comes.
The curtains drawn in her mind.
The deep depression sucking.
There is the same view from the window.
Trees and lawn and the bird table unattended.
Snow had fallen last time. She remembers
The white blanket over everything.
The bird table like a white statue
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poem by Terry Collett
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That Austen Guy.
Here's your fare
for the bus to school
your mother said
but some days you walked
and spent the money
on doughnuts at the bakery
on the way to school
and you felt them warm
through the white paper bag
the baker had put them in
and you ate them on the way
then licked your fingers clean
like some fingery blow job
and Ed Sutcliffe met you
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poem by Terry Collett
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After School Walk
After lessons at junior school
coming down the bricks stairs
Helen said
can I walk home with you?
Sure
you replied
and she set off with you
along St George's Road
the traffic and smoke fumes
setting the scene
she in her school frock
and cardigan
and white ankle socks
beside you in your grey jacket
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poem by Terry Collett
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My Apartment.
My apartment she said is not
That big and not in a state I’d
Like you to see but give me
Time and I’ll tidy it up and put
Away the books and papers
Scattered over the floor and table
And put all my clothes and smalls
Away and hey open up the windows
To let in fresh air to let out the smell
Of cigarettes and the cat I keep after
Finding it by the trash and it looked
So sad and unkempt and you said sure
Whenever you like wondering what
She did all day while not out at work
And if she kept the cat in bed with her
And had cat’s hairs everywhere and
How could she live in that untidiness
And come to think of it she did have
That catty smell when you stood next
To her in the lobby and yet you couldn’t
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poem by Terry Collett
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Bathtime Shared.
Fenola watched
as Eileen bathed.
She took in
the hand
moving
the lathered sponge
over the contours
of the body,
moving between tits
like some
venture ship of old,
moving down
the belly,
beneath the soapy water
to the pleasure dome,
then out again
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poem by Terry Collett
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Henry and the Scheme of Things.
It was all part of the scheme
of things Henry thought and
even when the women looked
at him with that odd curiosity
he never failed (at least not in
the beginning) to make a score
usually with one of the females
less prettier than the ones who
left before and after taking her
for the drink and meal routine
and maybe to the cinema he took
her back to his place and poured
her a drink and put on a cool jazz
record on the hifi and set her down
on the sofa and she talked and he
watched her lips move the lipstick
red the kind his mother used to wear
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poem by Terry Collett
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