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Poem I:


Dear Frances

Dear Frances
do you remember me?
I slow-danced into your shop
and faked interest in a carousel
of greetings cards.


And meantime
my heart was turning as well.
It would have been quicker
to buy a card
and post my invitation
than wait until other customers
paid or died,
but you surprised me and answered
“Yes”.


On the Saturday
you whispered “let’s cut the film”,
so I asked you another question
and again you answered “yes”.


Later we both called “YES, YES!”
in compliant harmony.
But on the Sunday
you told me “no” and,
to make it absolutely clear, you added
“there will never be a repeat”.
I knew then that I was no good.


Frances, tell me
did you know or suspect
that was my first ever time?


And Frances,
“Thank you, thank you”,
my heart is always polite and says “thank you”.
No welcome could have been sweeter
even though you didn’t want me to stay,
and maybe I have not changed much
because my tears now
seem just the same as my tears then.


By the way,
that was 35 years back today and
I would send you an anniversary card
but your shop closed long ago
and so did my dreams.

Hi~

Very inventive and fun! (till the unhappy ending).

Enjoyed this very much.

Thanks,
Laurie

I like this poem because it is fun and poignant. But it looks like it only took minutes to write.

Diane

This poem relates a beautiful and sad story from the soul of that one whose dreams closed. I do hope other dreams were happier and endured. I wonder if the Frances is not the actual name and was adopted to the poem to lend it more universal appeal because it 'can' be taken as man or woman (if one doesn't quibble about spelling). Although I am guessing the writer is feminine. It is a tastefully recounted story of that first special sexual event most of us have had (at our ages I hope so at least).

Diane wrote:I like this poem because it is fun and poignant. But it looks like it only took minutes to write.

Diane

I should imagine it took about the some length of time that the sex lasted.

Nightstalker wrote:This poem relates a beautiful and sad story from the soul of that one whose dreams closed. I do hope other dreams were happier and endured. I wonder if the Frances is not the actual name and was adopted to the poem to lend it more universal appeal because it 'can' be taken as man or woman (if one doesn't quibble about spelling). Although I am guessing the writer is feminine. It is a tastefully recounted story of that first special sexual event most of us have had (at our ages I hope so at least).

well, nightstalker, in 35 years this man/woman must have had other dreams. I bet some of those have worked out just fine. I find it one of the beauties of life that we can look back so far and "be there" once more. I am certain the Frances was a woman.

I still occasionally drive past the house where Frances and I shared the one night. I imagine stopping and going in, or maybe if I knock on the door she will be there and we will both be 35 years younger again.

For the first few years after my lovely Dad died, if I spotted any elderly man who looked a little similar I had to stop and check. Maybe Dad has come back and all will be right again.

Hi Michael, I just read your poem again. Lovely memory of a first love, and an inauguration into the trials of love. It is a pity that Frances can't read that poem you wrote about her 'after all those years'; I'd love to know what her reaction would be .

Diane

AH, Mickey. Sorry for the total misguess about the author and the name. I am always looking for the less obvious and the hidden high cards. Once agin, this is a wonderful composition. I know what you mean about trying to make magic happen when you see someone who resembles a dead or missing loved one. What a beautiful picture -- turning back the clcok 35 years by knocking on that door. Bet it would work!! If only in the heart for a second....... Bet she would appreciate the poem too.

That was probably her parents' house and she's no longer there; however, if they're still alive and there, they could connect you. She would love the poem, and it would be a rather humourous way for her to receive somewhat of a comeuppance... as I'm certain she had no idea it was your first time. A cup of tea shared at this point in your lives could be marvelous.

I can relate so well to what you're saying about seeing your beloved father in others. When I see someone resembling my Dad, I become transfixed to see if there are other characteristics in their behaviours or mannerisms that are also similar. For magical moments, I re-experience my Dad, too, no matter how the rest of it plays out. Death can be so hard to cope with, and the ways we strive to do that can be so varied.

I loved your poem, Michael. It was good to see you write one that dealt with your own, personal experience and your vulnerability at the time. It was delightful seeing how two people, obviously attracted to each other, work through the surface presentations of themselves to each other, to take their encounter further.

~ Lizzy

Diane wrote:Hi Michael, I just read your poem again. Lovely memory of a first love, and an inauguration into the trials of love. It is a pity that Frances can't read that poem you wrote about her 'after all those years'; I'd love to know what her reaction would be .

Diane

I fear her reaction would only be "Michael, hhmmm, let me think, Michael...nope"

Nightstalker wrote:AH, Mickey. Sorry for the total misguess about the author and the name. I am always looking for the less obvious and the hidden high cards. Once agin, this is a wonderful composition. I know what you mean about trying to make magic happen when you see someone who resembles a dead or missing loved one. What a beautiful picture -- turning back the clcok 35 years by knocking on that door. Bet it would work!! If only in the heart for a second....... Bet she would appreciate the poem too.

thanks NS, much appreciated!

lizzytysh wrote:That was probably her parents' house and she's no longer there; however, if they're still alive and there, they could connect you. She would love the poem, and it would be a rather humourous way for her to receive somewhat of a comeuppance... as I'm certain she had no idea it was your first time. A cup of tea shared at this point in your lives could be marvelous.

I can relate so well to what you're saying about seeing your beloved father in others. When I see someone resembling my Dad, I become transfixed to see if there are other characteristics in their behaviours or mannerisms that are also similar. For magical moments, I re-experience my Dad, too, no matter how the rest of it plays out. Death can be so hard to cope with, and the ways we strive to do that can be so varied.

I loved your poem, Michael. It was good to see you write one that dealt with your own, personal experience and your vulnerability at the time. It was delightful seeing how two people, obviously attracted to each other, work through the surface presentations of themselves to each other, to take their encounter further.

~ Lizzy

Lizzy, I appreciate your comments.

Actually, it was Frances's bedsit flat, she was a few years older than me and I still lived at home. The job I had next to her shop was as the most junior reporter on a very well-known local London newspaper. I remember my weekly wage was £18, about $25!! I could only just have afforded the original plan of going to the cinema. The alternative entertainment that she "forced" on me turned out to be free, so, as we Cockneys say, "I was quids in".

I am glad our loved ones who have died live on in these surreal moments of "recognition" as well as in the more conventional ways.

In the Jewish religion we light a special candle and say special prayers each anniversary of the passing. For Dad it is Monday 27th of this month (it varies each year as it is marked by the Hebrew calendar). Anyway, I always imagine him and Mum looking down and chuckling that I never change, still the same mischievous baby of the family but, as we Cockney's also say " 'eart of gold, diamond geezer".

ok, ok we only talk like that in tatty films and crap TV shows but never mind...

Hi Michael ~

Ah, okay... she wouldn't be there for another reason... and now, the possible 'given' contact with her's not an option, either. So, PeopleSearch.com [or whatever] may hold promise. I'd love to hear one day that you tracked her down and enjoyed some sympathetic laughter over your old [and new ] times. I'm sure she would remember you.

I am glad our loved ones who have died live on in these surreal moments of "recognition"

The exact description of what those moments are... thanks, Michael. I am glad, too.

That is a lovely tradition of lighting the special candle, with special prayers, in memory. Those kinds of traditions can help us move on. I'm sure you're right in the way they look down at you and, with each other, laugh. They're right in their Cockney, tatty-film comment ~ "'eart of gold, diamond geezer."

Love,
Lizzy