June Webster

June Webster Poems

She's gone, but neither of us
can say it aloud or even softly.

You sipping your fill of wine,
...

It's strange how you thought you could remove
the World Turned Upside Down, the Old Gin Palace,
and the Green Man, replace them with pizza take-outs,
restaurants of dubious cuisine, think we wouldn't notice.
...

In Hampstead a house is being burgled,
the spoils are worth a couple of thousand,
but the thieves ignore a grubby cracked pot,
worth twenty times more than their loot.
...

Let me wander with you around La Serenissima,
discover how sunlight reflections illuminate edifices,

create columns.How brush strokes spatter flashes
...

You teased our minds as we roamed
your work, wondering why a black cat
glared back in a scene with a pigeon
sporting a tube-sign eye and a butcher
...

Don't accept my mien as reserve or wistfulness.
I'm looking straight at whoever takes time to grasp
what lies beyond the guise, into my eyes and my soul.
...

Sitting at my laptop on a dismal day with nothing in mind,
not a clue on what to write on the topic, change or routine.

I have no routine, so maybe, could start with a change there.
...

June Webster Biography

Have had many poems published in magazines and anthologies.)

The Best Poem Of June Webster

For A Daughter

She's gone, but neither of us
can say it aloud or even softly.

You sipping your fill of wine,
feigning interest in a TV repeat

Me with head bent over book
trying to read about hobbits,

staring at shapes floating
and quivering over the page.

but continuing to not read
the tightly gripped volume,

scared that if I let go, I'll crumble
and shatter our cut-glass silence

II

Today's chockfull of words,
not those left unsaid yesterday,

ones not used with her in mind
Wood or cardboard, light oak

or black ash, painted in white
but red was her favourite colour.

No hymns, her favourite music,
one hour crammed with her story,

about who she was, is, always.
All that love we had, have, buried

not with her but inside ourselves
as we try to gather our threads…

III

Tonight, we're back together, alone,
you with wine and TV, me with book.

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