Robert Melliard Poems

Laying slabs around our house,
I like the way each piece fits into place,
hear neighbours make admiring noises.
...

For weeks I've been writing easily
but coldly, shielding myself perhaps,
behind a sturdy rationality,
against a basic loss of love.
...

Remember when we sat on that verandah,
outside our rented, rustic Tuscan home;
among those hills, with cypress trees and vines,
just taking in the view and sipping wine?
...

Her firm, warm, slim light brown-ness;
high, strong cheekbones; angled face;
the striking waves of her dark hair;
her busy-ness, quick movements
...

His partner isn't simply what she seems:
he sees her through a mesh of memories.
She isn't just the woman she is now,
but a compendium of all she's been.
...

The pungent sea-smell lingers everywhere
as you stroll down to the quay.
You see signs of firm identity
like life-belts, bollards, lobster pots,
...

As a child I had a 'coloured' nurse
(actually I'm coloured too - I'm pink) .

Perhaps that's why I've always loved dark ladies:
...

Some of my poems
(for what they're worth)
were written with the help of coffee
(that first, early morning mug)
...

She experienced moments of rapture
at the sight of a robin, a snowdrop,
primroses, bluebells, a squirrel,
an ancient oak
...

In autumn we picked blackberries
and mum made jelly.

The sweet, rich smell
...