To know that, she’s had you
Over and over
I want to understand
When you say you’re committed
Just how many times must I have you
To teach your body something new?
I say that I’m fine, but these words…
Need undoing , revealing that I’m not
woman
Miss Shelly
Miss Shelly
I call her
For she’s spared these eyes
A humbling moment
I hope that I too
Will someday be a Miss Shelly
She’s clothed in dungarees, blonde hair in a messy bun
She cradles her wee one, who’s also matching her khaki jacket
Miss Shelly
Ever so protective
Very much the doting mother
She loves on her little one
And me? I watch
Till his eyes meet mine
Baby chuckles in delight
What a wonderful sight to behold
Ah Miss Shelly!
She’d do anything for him
She’d put herself last
Miss Shelly, go on and be blessed
And I can’t help but think
Of all the purest connections
My eyes have made
With the very young and innocent
I wish they’d remember
I wish that, this could someday make them smile
I wish they’d know, how for a few minutes
They had made a stranger’s day
While Minding My Business
A fortnight later
And he’s gifted me
A glimmer of hope
This, while simply minding my business
He could be the one
But he often disappears
Then I’m left to ponder
My only warning, being a moment’s notice
Then he reappears
As if to make amends
My heart jumping with joy
As if to tell me, “Didn’t I say so?”
Who does he think he is?
Leaving me in disarray
Telling me about his day
Then gone in a whiff
I better stay calm
Guard this heart of mine
Lest she warms up to him
For the grandest of falls
A fortnight to come
I may be left morose
And so maybe it’s time
To dish out my trusty detachment
The End
When you know, you know
Unmistakable synergy
The senses relaying,
The tragic news
But it’s the switch
The transition, the click
The crossover
Immediate and sudden
Burden is delivered
Guilt casts over
The silent ache, reverberating
This, the soundtrack to the loss of child
The Start
Lush orchids
Something about raindrops
Pelting at them
Like a bond forged
Out of the blue
Complementing each other
Soft kicks
Beating at this cocoon of love
Such a precious bundle
A bond like no other
Here to stay
Connected for all of eternity
A Whole Woman
PRETTY GIRLS
Pretty girls
Pretty woeful
Tears and mascara
Not so pretty after all
Pretty girls
Pretty sensitive
Holding on to hurtful remarks
Downcast and pensive
Pretty girls
Concealing ‘ugly’ features
To questionable standards
Emblazoned in tabloids and magazine spreads
Pretty girls
Pretty slaves
Pretty in a rush
To dig their graves
Virtuoso
I tell you,
He inspired her art
There’s something about pain
Though a wall shields her heart,
It birthed a virtuoso from her bane.
She performs,
It’s him she wants observing
Every note louder, gestures immaculate,
He left her hurting and uncertain
Unaware of a masterpiece he was to create.
Virtuoso,
Listen, how she belts out!
Her words, they inspire,
The rules, she will flout
She entrances, and he can’t help but admire.
Virtuoso,
Rain on her compliments
She impresses with little effort,
But in her, he planted deep sentiments
Raw, beautiful art is her reward.
There’s Something About You
I wish you spoke,
with the confidence you stare me down with.
I wish they’d see,
the light you cover up, though darkness eclipses.
There’s something about you.
Rare, desirable, commanding,
Yet it is fear, you choose.
I watch the way you sashay
with a sway, ever so delightful
I love from a distance,
everything you embody.
There’s something about you,
Unsparing, hearty, stunning.
Yet, the spotlight you refuse.
They turn heads, and murmur,
at your very presence, they’re spellbound.
Some envy, others admire,
The crystal you are, a gemstone.
There’s something about you,
Wanted by all, precious, lustrous
Yet you don’t have a clue.
THE FOREIGNER
–3/5–
She speaks, I listen and stare in wonder,
Poised, a whim of the moment,
Why can’t I see that this is me?
She is a voluptuous figure, curves back then mistaken to be extra pounds,
Beautiful and alluring, très étonnante, c’est moi,
The day has arrived, a whole new woman,
A free spirit, ready to delve in new beginnings,
The sad memories of the past have been shattered to pieces,
Hope for the future, is in her that I see and admire,
She has seen the best in me, helping me to my feet
But, why can’t I see that she is I?
She watches her muse, and I listen to my teacher
She claps and out of exhilaration screams at me, she is proud.
The lonesome nights will be no more, gloomy mornings have been replaced
It’s sheer bliss, he that couldn’t see the good in me, she has seen
She is I, C’est moi,
Ponder I may, but I know better, now that she is here
I’ve been cradled for long; I woke up a new woman
I kick my heels off,
Sway my body side to side,
Hugging my curtains, serenading my wall paintings,
There’s desperation to go on,
*THUMP*!
Falling down to the carpet, I can’t help but laugh at myself.
Boy oh boy, what now!
The Other Woman
–1/5–
She blushed, her lips she pursed, she liked what she saw,
That afternoon when paths crossed.
Tonight draped in pearls, dressed in silk,
She’s a vision to behold.
Red lipstick, infallible, and a head full of curls
She bats her eyelashes thick with mascara
Always one to make a lasting impression.
All isn’t well , locks have been opened,
There was always a story to tell.
She makes her way past the fountain
Voices in her head echo what she has ascertained.
A pounding heart, she manages to suppress the ‘waterworks’
It will be okay, it will be.
Rage is not her parting gift,
But her sorrow is a well so deep.
Composure steps in as she leans in for the embrace,
He can tell, he’s been found out.
She knows she is the other woman.
Somewhat complicated, he hadn’t been able to choose,
And now a beauty he stands to lose.
As she whispers, “I don’t want to leave…but I must”,
Her perfume penetrates deep into his airways.
The other woman wants not to be an option,
Tonight the other woman departs,
She, she has become a woman with a choice.
A peck on the cheek, she lets go, she stares,
The other woman she is, not anymore.
Her shapely figure walks towards the bar.
A celebratory glass of wine,
For a choice morally inclined.
