Sunday, February 12, 2012

and may God bless.








Parole


by Alan Brownjohn

(i.m. I. H.)





The lately dead still arrive in the corner of your eye

Past the restaurant window, preparing slow smiles of pride

At achieving their return. They know that without them

You can never be the same, so they cheat for a while.

They keep trying to work a parole to the usual places,

They won't be excluded from them if you are there.



Their fingers have pressed the latch and the door nearly opens,

But then their smile turns embarrassed because they find

It behaves like a turnstile: they think they have admission,

But this door is fixed to prevent them coming back in.

And you just can't help, at all; if you went out to greet them

They would not be there, no one in the street would have seen them.



Then slowly the corner of your eye

Forgets to look.










5 comments:

  1. Wow - that is a fascinating poem & so true! Except sometimes, even now almost 7 years later I catch a glimpse of my mom out of the corner of my eye. The difference now is that it doesn't make me as sad as it used to. "Hey Mom!"

    Whitney & I are the same age, practically. Looking at how high she flew & how sad she became I feel a little more content with my smaller life.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Love the poem. Quite interesting and very meaningful. That song of Whitney Houston is one of her best song. Ah, may she rest in peace. :(

    Thanks for the share,
    Peny@Top Reasons Why US is Having Staff Nurse Shortage

    ReplyDelete

Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)