Thursday, August 27, 2009


'Glaring empty', by Lisa Mabey

I sit on the edge of your bed
and watch you leak
small drops
of life.

I anticipated doing things for you,
rather than this --
this waiting, hovering,
trying to interpret
what your heart mumbles
between slurred words.

Like a beachcomber, I search
for tiny wave tossed treasures,
then leave for home - empty handed -
and pray for the tide to turn.

Lesley-Anne Evans

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Jazz singer

Five o’clock shadow on your eight o’clock face,
you hold the mic tenderly in your embrace.
Your baby face wet with traces of sweat, and
you sing to me, you sing to me.

Main stage lights glitter and black ebony glows,
brass band sparkle matches the shine on your shoes.
The boys play on as you croon your song, and
you sing for me, you sing for me.

Heat wave in the words that haunt your lips,
crowd of thousands wrapped ‘round your fingertips.
Platinum wives and young women breathlessly gaze, as
you toy with us, you toy with us.

Black patent shoes dance on the door to my heart,
your flirtatious promises are a well rehearsed art.
I’m mesmerized by your contrived gestures of hand, and
I swoon for you, I swoon for you.

Then it’s over, the starry night fantasy done.
You exit stage right, your encore is sung.
My heart quietens, then resumes a familiar dance
to my true love’s song, my true love’s song.

photography courtesy of our imac
photobooth application

Lesley-Anne Evans

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