My ‘Glory’ days – Part 1
You ask why
when I breathe, and this heart beats
even through all the senses
I see, touch, smell, hear and taste
and have lived so many ages
that I call myself lifeless.
I’ll tell you a little story
of a boy who met his Glory…
When I was a young lad
handsome, wild and joyed
I would meet thousand dames
falling at my feet
eyes fluttering, and giggling
they would breathe their names
in soft whispers upon my nape
and long for me to sweep them up
into reckless arms
and toy with their feelings
knowing that for both it were nothing
more than summer love amongst a wild youthful field of daisies.
In such design I led my way
tumbling heather or a way
many a nights lost in fussy lights
many a wispy conversations
loosing hours amongst nothing
that remains within the mind
and with the light of the morning Sun
would be gone the name
as I smile charming upon a golden face.
Then one evening, near a local church
I watched some wedding party pull up
sitting across the street, sipping coffee at Jo’s Cafe
this one woman, tall and bronzed
slid out and caught my eye.
She flicked her fringe up with a paper in hand
by fate the hot Summer breeze blew by
and from her hand sent me an invite
floating across the street at my feet.
She ran ‘Excuse me,’ without ceremony
without ever so much as a glance.
Her face etched itself in my mind
noting the divine rosy cheeks
the piercing blues eyes
and a name for sake of God I could not catch,
she turned and left.
For once, I ran
after a woman, a bridesmaid
‘I’m Pete,’ I snaked my way through the hustle
smiling at the strangers.
She glared then resumed talking to her pair.
‘Are you doing anything after this?’ I interrupted with cheek.
She turned fully her back to me.
I tapped her shoulder gently,
‘I am an excellent cook,
I dance, sing, love to love,’
and wedged myself in between.
She sighed, a resigning sign,
I was used to this, finally.
‘Look, Pete!’ she said pointedly,
‘Watch this face carefully,’ she gestured,
and what would she know,
I could definitely stare at it, for hours,
‘I don’t care who you are. I don’t care if you cook, dance, sing or build a fire,’
she huffed, removing her intrusive fringe once more,
‘I’m not interested!’
And for once, I felt my heart skip.
So there it was, I was hit,
hooked on a girl
who gave me the flick.
You want to know what I did?