Who’s to say when love dies?
Or if it ever does?
I don’t think you can ever really
count on yourself
to stay your hand or your heart.
Come and sit with me,
these chairs are high backed
and beautifully packed,
and I will tell you all the
colours of my heart
and the hate in my soul
and the love in my breast.
But if she crossed the room
I can’t say I wouldn’t follow her
with my eyes
or that I wouldn’t be trying not to.
Love simmers like a forgotten kettle
and every joyous once in a while
it boils over
but the once lit flame stays alight
through all the dark days
and cold nights of your life.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
Applauding. I like the lines “hate in my soul, love in my breast, and love simmers like a forgotten kettle”
“Love simmers like a forgotten kettle” – great line – good images – I enjoyed!
Thank you.
you’re stuff really reminds me of Raymond Carvers poetry, really liking it. The piece on seeing the girl on the bus is great too – carver/bukowski! Lydia
you’re stuff really reminds me of Raymond Carvers poetry, really liking it. The piece on seeing the girl on the bus is great too – carver/bukowski! Lydia
Thanks!
I’ve not heard of this Raymond Carver. I shall look him up.
Hey, I can’t find you on the rate my poetry blog. No wait, I think I found you. Never mind. Giving you a rating. Of course its a zero. 🙂
Kidding.
Like the new site. Love the cat. Eeeeeeeery.
Ah cheers Kim.
I don’t really know what that thing’s about
but, sure, it can’t hurt.
Cat’s are the business.
Merry Christmas.
kim