musings of la souris bleue...

(...poetic visions of a troubadour's life)

alfred booth

alfred booth
Location
Colombes, France
Birthday
May 23
Bio
Just a mid-aged classical pianist who likes to write poetry in his spare time. A newcomer to the blog experience at OS. You'll find almost exclusively poetry as I expand my horizons.... See more at: http://www.writing.com/main/portfolio/view/troubadour

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APRIL 12, 2012 3:47AM

P(oem)-A-D(ay) n° 12

Rate: 1 Flag

we must follow alone
freedom is calling softly
six or eight feet, single file
would reassure me more than two
my best choice would be four
do you know who I am?

straying so far away from where I've been
you appear, radiant
strolling down the hallway with a guitar
singing about Broadway’s allure

I am the lonely boy
stuck in a wheelchair
I wear shoes as if they were useful
I dream of love, like you
where I have been
I can never return

we're all winners
always forgiving our first love’s errors
someone only we knew so well
collects stuffed animals
and is afraid of the dark
one day we learn to smile again

if I cry tonight
it's to say thank you
you have shown me out of solitude’s way
here is my world, come join me
let's pack our bags and run away
today belongs to us

we are not too different
varsity football captain
and the fat bad-ass girl
together we turn all their heads
when we sing, when we jive
especially when we kiss

i told you I'm as sad as a baby panda
you're my songbird, when I hold your hand
everything is bright
I will love you until my heart explodes

you think I haven’t heard the rumors
please don't ask more questions
we live in a motel, five of us
you brought me tears
a guitar out of hock
my story must remain a secret between us

they sing about broken hearts
sweet voices of their duets
oblivious, time stands still for a month
make a wish to grow old together
I would die for you

that news, the stuff I said
I can't broadcast it live
how loving you breaks my heart
I must pretend girls only love boys
I don't know yet
how to make you my strength

his body dances, speaks of sensuality
the music is slow and soft
his favorite pillow talk words
are mon amour, mon chéri
cigarette smoke, blue and red pens
a love poem folded into an origami bird
he isn’t afraid of who he is

they flounder with love
treading upon these eggshells
they too are novices at life
yet as delicate as a first kiss
they embrace tomorrow
as innocent as love's wings


a dozen in love
[2012.11.4...c]

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Cheaper by the dozen...Good question. I smell egg salad.