Don't worry, this may be the last one for a while... but it's here for a
read, for comment, for criticism...
(and there ain't no italics, no *'s needed in this one!):
YES
So quietly, like an old mammal dying in winter,
the blood orange sun bled for us again last night.
Yes, like Bellingham salmon, we’d muscled our hidden ways
even when we nuzzled under duvets, quiet as water,
making a point of respecting each other’s loud strength.
Yes, we did not know whose cars, in mornings as we woke,
crunched by like bacon sizzling. They were those we never knew,
those who never sing to friends, who saw us but didn’t see
the vast silences, weighty as unpronounceable mountains,
their glens’ curves, motionless with twilight and snow.
Yes, many telephone lines squirmed with our chuckles
between the times we rarely spoke. O Virgin,
O Newcastle trains that had trembled many single lovers
on the long sleeping journeys to their hearts. Do you hear them?
Do they still chink by like Walkmans playing tunes we love?
Yes, I want to remember you stood in my dream, always
as huge as Gateshead’s Angel glowing in morning’s light,
hear you as you stoop and drape the width of your wings
over the thin swerve of the Millennium Bridge
embracing me – your rust on my hands - as I rise.
Or will all I hear be the sighs of my clothes as I dress,
hands emerging from sleeves to pull zips?
Bob Cooper
(Oh yes, if you're not in the UK, "Virgin" not only sell CDs and stick their
name on cans of Coke, they also try to run trains...)
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