0037 To, For, Sheila W.

Poem By Michael Shepherd

This evening, I thought of you
after, how long, forty years:
you, sitting across the oak table
in the old forge's kitchen, that John had made
from salvaged shop fittings,
his sleeves rolled up, workmanly care
mixed on his face with amused dissatisfaction;

you, looking across at me with a girlish joy
which, daughter, wife, mother, grandmother,
was always there – a girlish joy
that could hardly believe its luck
to find its understanding in another;
enthusiastic excitement rising like a blush;
then a little check of breath, as if
in company, courtesy required
it be controlled, or else
it would flood out and fill the room,
burst open the doors, out across the fields,
to seek out every other soul that welcomed it…

in such a moment shared, (it is as if)
one knows everything one needs to know
of earth; of heaven.

Comments about 0037 To, For, Sheila W.

There is no comment submitted by members.


2,0 out of 5
3 total ratings

Other poems of SHEPHERD

Love Love Love

Oh it's so easy to say -

'Give what you think you lack -
You feel unloved? Then give love, and love, and love...'...

! A Grief Ago

'There is no grief
which time does not lessen
or soften' -
so said Cicero, a man so often right;

! A Poem For Samuel

Who is that man who calls you ' a nobody'?
Oh, he's nobody.

Who is that man who says 'You're really somebody'?

! Metaphor

A pretty girl
is like a simile
and vice-a-versa
so I'd say

! Baby Love, Maybe Love

so there you are in
your pram or kiddikarria
nicely tucked up,
being talked to in that

! A Zimbabwean Asks A Question

O Great Spirit,
You who in Your form of the Chapungu,
the great eagle with sharper eye than any aeroplane,
watches over us and knows all things;