Undoing

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

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

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

themuse_olivermeyer_webitorial_6

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

genetierney1

 

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–
george-marks-woman-wearing-dress-looking-in-mirror

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–

WE

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.