Fay and You and The Fading Bruise
Fay met you
at the bus stop
on the New Kent Road
she was dressed
in the lemon coloured dress
you liked
and her hair
was pulled tight
into a ponytail
where are you going?
she asked
to the Globe
you said
what Shakespeare's Globe?
she asked
no the fleapit cinema
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poem by Terry Collett
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Mamie in Malaga.
Mamie met you
in the base camp bar
in Malaga
her curly red hair
damp from a recent shower
and said
Picasso was born here
In this bar?
you said
No
she moaned
In the city
in 1881
and she took the drink
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poem by Terry Collett
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Martha' Crucified.
Martha had this thing
about the Crucified.
The image, the cross,
the stretched out arms.
The one in the convent
school along by the chapel
always caught her eye.
Stood there staring.
Get a move on Martha,
the nun said. Don't gape so.
Or the image in the dining
room stuck up on the wall
above the abbess's table.
Painted on she thought.
Not the same. Her mother
had the one her mother
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poem by Terry Collett
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After the Munich Putsch..
After history
something to do
with the Munich Putsch
in 1923
and going out
on to the school
playing field
Rolland said
That hot lips chick
is waving to you
from the outer fence
and so off you went
leaving Rolland
to go kick ball
with others on the field
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poem by Terry Collett
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The Love Letter
She wonders how to begin her letter
She knows he will read each word
Greedily for any hint of love. She knows
He will sniff the paper for any scent of her
She leans an elbow on her writing desk
And clutches her pen tight. She has got
As far as, Dear John, but then the words
Stopped coming. Before she had sat down
To write, the words flowed through her
Mind like a rushing stream, now nothing
She sucks the end of the pen. Say what
You would if you were face to face, her
Mother always said. She tries to imagine
He is there before her and what she would
Say if he was, but still no words will come
He writes to her so fluently when he writes
He always seems to know what to write
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poem by Terry Collett
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Rubber Of The Rosary
I am the rubber of the rosary,
said Sister Paul, my finger and
thumb move over the beads like
a humble worm, I utter prayers
like a hissing snake, my breath
rising in the air like a frightened
bird. The silence enfolds me like
my lover's arms, its peacefulness
kisses my ears like my lover's lips,
the touch of the thick silence my
lover's fingertips. His breath breathes
upon my neck, His requests utter
In my ears, His love echoes through
my being. The darkness embraces
me like a black cloth, my eyes see
shadows in nightly prayers, my sight
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poem by Terry Collett
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Betty's Date.
Betty sips her drink and crosses
her legs and wonders if Chowbrew
will ever come as he said he would
and as she has been waiting for
over an hour she thinks he's not
coming, thinks he's gone off with
another. She sighs. All that time getting
ready, putting on the new dress,
making sure she'd put on fresh
underwear, showered, washed
her hair, filed her nails and still
he hasn't come. Betty, her mother
used to say, men are like buses,
if one doesn't turn up another'll soon
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poem by Terry Collett
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On Westminster Bridge.
Fay looked down
at the River Thames
from Westminster Bridge
and you stood next to her
watching the boats
go under the bridge
and disappear from view
and she said
my dad said he'd take me
on one of those boats
and out to sea
but he never has
you looked sideways at her
taking in her blonde hair
and her blue eyes
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poem by Terry Collett
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One Leg Anne's Escape
One leg Anne
crutched herself
to the window
and stared out at the rain
Look at the pissing weather
she said
she let go
of the handle
of one crutch
and scratched her thigh
you stood just behind her
watching her standing there
like a dejected Napoleon
What do you think
they'd say if I got you
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poem by Terry Collett
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Lourdes 2006
Jimmy opened his suitcase in the room
at Lourdes and said Oh no there's molasses
all over the clothes and shoes and I've got
a whole week here and he sat down in a chair
his head in his hands saying What have I done?
What am I going to do for clothes now? you
went over and looked in and sure enough
the molasses were over his clothes and shoes.
What am I going to do? he said and you said
Leave it to me Jim I'll sort it and you went through
the clothes taking out the items untouched
by the molasses and set them aside on the bed
and then carried the suitcase of black sticky items
Into the washroom and there one by one you carefully
washed them through with soap and water until
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poem by Terry Collett
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