The Birth of Opals
Upon my very word
I did once marvel
at the seeming birth
of opals all
along the very subtle
curve of her
naked back and thighs ..
And how within
their fiery glow they
did so very much
resemble
the cascading wave
of wild salmon flanks
strewn across
my semi-precious
Somerset skies ..
A county blessed
with what once was
and what
might once have been ..
Oh’ upon my
very word I came to
know those skies
so well indeed ..
Or did I merely wish,
or dream it so ..
For this hungry body
and my soul
indeed all those blues,
greens, reds
and golds each one
as delicate
as fern fronds
and fragile
as a wren’s egg yet
just as full ..
But without those
old familial ties ..
Yes, it was then she
sighed and smiled
and brushed
those tiny beads of
sweat aside ..
Each as iridescent
as the wings
of a hover fly
and just as transient ..
She was still there
till she was
all but gone though
and that my friend
is the true nature
of this one word love
I have learnt to frown upon
“She was there until she was gone”—Butterflies are free, like in the old seventies film.
And women are free as well, they may lite upon our branch for a few seconds…but we must not try to hold them.
They will come back if they wish.
Like this poem a lot, Neville.
j.
Hello Jacob, it is good to see you have joined the new gang .. and thanks tons for reaching out & considering my little but not so new scribble .. Indeed, many thanks indeed sir & wishing you well .. Neville 😎👍
Tremendous work, as always my friend.
Thank you Thomas .. Very muchly appreciated .. Neville