Friday 9 September 2016

Poetry Friday 10

For audio click here

Just two for you this week, and maybe I am scraping the bottom of the jar. One (with a red warning) mined from an old story, the other completely original. 


The Map
I drew a line
down her back.
and promised her
it was a map
to follow later.
She sighed,
her eyes sparkled
and told me all
I needed to know.

I kept my promise.

This next poem needs to be read in a Welsh accent. 

You either love it, or you hate it.
Our paths crossed in the pasta aisle,
our eyes met by the cheese.
Did our fingers touch fleetingly
when we both reached for frozen peas?
I saw her by the cold meats,
smiled at her over wine.
I think our wheels brushed briefly
when her trolley was next to mine.
But nothing lasts for ever,
and I looked on in dread.
In the trolley of this angel,
were three jars of yeast spread.
You either love it or you hate it,
and to me it tastes like shite.
How could I love a woman,
who’s addicted to marmite.

For previous poetry Friday's click here and here and here and here and here  and here and here and here and here

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