Autumn colours

If I spent as long writing new poems as I do looking back through old ones to find something to post on the blog, I’d probably end up with a lot more to choose from.

That said, today’s was a relatively easy choice: despite the rich, bright colours, autumn is a melancholy season, so a poem about absence seems appropriate.

Things I do

when you’re not here: I stay up
half the night with Marlowe,
Smiley and other men
you don’t approve of, trying to find
distraction in their mysteries.
When I do sleep, I lie
on your side of the bed
so when I wake, it’s me
who’s missing. I talk about you
to the cat and hope she won’t forget.
I binge on carbohydrate
comfort foods then worry
about gaining weight. Feeling sorry
for the single cup and saucer
on the draining board, I let
the washing up pile high
to keep them company. I wear
the last T-shirt you wore
before you left, its fibres impregnated
with your memory; then I pretend
that sleeves are arms
and that you hold me
while I sleep.

Author: don't confuse the narrator

Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion

4 thoughts on “autumnal”

      1. I’ve always heard the Valéry quote as “A poem is never finished, only abandoned”, but just checked quickly on Google and found, “A work is never completed except by some accident such as weariness, satisfaction, the need to deliver, or death[…].” This is depressing, as I get the impression it implies that even when we’re satisfied with a poem, it may only be a temporary perspective – which in turn means that I have even more unfinished works in need of polishing than I had realised!


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