Poem 290

A benevolent introduction to the mysteries, one lambent image to navigate an adult life by, a reminder of the simplicity inside the complexity of sexuality … the more I picture this the more I think it might be another distant boyhood memory belonging to old Bill (Poem 255) – alone in his dotage perhaps it’s not rosebud he whispers but with a smile the summoned up never forgotten name of a woman he only saw once …

( I like the almost rhymes, the easy flowing rhythm and elegance in sketching the scene, the way it starts with the metaphor of the wind as a restless boy then moves to real boys, and the sense of human communication passed in silence … )

Ginnie Donaldson

The wind was a boy with a stick
going whistling down
among weeds
all along the untidy fringes
the grass flattened down
in waves
black clouds blew in too fast
to give the day enough time
to go grey
as along the path in the trees
two boys watched where the lovers lay

sitting up in the branches
when the pair stopped underneath
they watched completely silent
him spread his coat for her
on the leaves

he didn't think that much about it
for her it was a matter of course
so the moment belonged
to the watching boys
held completely enthralled
never forgetting how she lay
                                                    looking up
and seeing them only smiled