Glory Days

Poem By Charley Powell

She comes in at a quarter to one that night,
A stumbling shadow in the slumbering hallway.
Through to the kitchen, lights are flicked on
Blazing ferociously as she squints mascara-streaked eyes.
Flops into a chair, these heels are killing her, kicks
Them under the table - sore feet relieved.
Now the annoying earrings come out,
Off come the glitzy bangles, dumped
In a ragged heap on the table.
The night was a good one
She thinks.
What was the bloke's name? Chris? Drew?
Does it matter? He'd never call.
The house buzzes with deafening emptiness.
She hauls herself to bed.

Next morning at the mirror
A jaded stranger greets her.
Last night's makeup crusted
And smeared into a clown-faced mockery.
Her hair hangs lank and filled with smoke-stench
And rings black as tea-stains gouge hollows round her eyes.
These are the glory days
The happy memories she'll look back on one day...
Her pale cheeks are scarred by tear trails.

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Other poems of POWELL


I visited the graveyard one cold winter's day
To wander among the headstones and pray.
Two new additions this week had appeared
One, a young woman, much loved and revered


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Snapping free the bonds of daily existence
Making way for the new to arrive and arise,
To burst upon us like the great foaming wave

The Impostor

These aren't tears glistening on my eyelashes
They're sequins, or Christmas lights sparkling.
My shoulders, shaking?

Nearly Asleep Poem

I lie in a pool of thoughts
That seep into my pillow
From the bullet-sized hole in my consciousness.

Here Be Darkness

Here be darkness
Where the soul wallows in
its sordid little sins
And monsters doze.