The cobbled street
No more will I hear your tapping heel
ring across the rain glaze cobbled street
and not alone do I this loss of sound feel
without which I know we cannot meet.
The wind is begged by the waiting trees
to bend their branches gently down
so the leaves may catch on the breeze
your arrival from the town.
No more will I see your shadow first
stretching before you, eager for me,
and so I must be a lover cursed
clenching tight a spare door key.
The Owl you watched on his place
until past midnight when he flew,
has also left, his bough an empty space.
He was also watching you.
The rain glaze cobbled street is now hushed
but still watched by a heart now crushed.
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That’s powerful stuff Nigel. Love it
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Cheers Pal, much appreciated
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When I read your words, I’m so immersed everything else falls away. Then I get to the last word and I have to remember to breathe again and then I have to start over for another read. This has all those deep layers, mystery, and imagery that you so masterfully weave. There’s a feeling of waiting and ache of longing. Another excellent write.
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Thank you Lynn, this came off the back of the owl piece, when I saw it I thought how great it would be to share this with someone. There were stone cobbled street everywhere in the north of England and being raised and sort of cushion like they always glistened in an attractive way that asphalt never can. Of course high heels would clatter signalling her arrival. I couldn’t resist the Owl leaving him as well, symbolising wisdom and implying he can’t think straight anymore. She hasn’t just left she’s taken a part of him with her.
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Stone cobbled streets do have a certain draw to their beauty. I could hear the high heels on them. The owl is a deep layer, love that. Ah, the pieces that scatter in times like that.
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Indeed, to become faint echoes for all our days left.
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“No more will I see your shadow first stretching before you, eager for me” …. wow! I felt an ache in the pit of my stomach while reading this. You are now having physical manifestations on your readers: be gentle kind Sir!
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Such a responsibility weighs heavily for I no not what lies beyond the doors I open .
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Alright then! I have been warned and shall brace myself.
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A wonderful piece of poetry Nigel. It brought a vision of The Shambles in York to mind.
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Thank you Davy.
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