Michael Shepherd

Rookie (8.4.1929 / Marton, Lancashire)

! An Offering Of Bliss To You - Poem by Michael Shepherd

Your bliss is not my bliss
and yet perhaps
if I tell you my bliss
there may be a place
where we can meet
beyond words

My father
used to meet that small him
who was me
every afternoon from school
in the green park across from School
he had no job then,
it got him out of the house

One day
which lives in bliss
he had this tiny
black and white bundle
straining on a new brown leather leash
overjoyed to see me
though we'd never met


Comments about ! An Offering Of Bliss To You by Michael Shepherd

  • (4/10/2012 12:10:00 AM)

    How extremely fortunate I am to have known (unfortunately not personally) the multi-talented Michael Shepherd. How sincerely sorry I am to have learned of his
    passing. He will not pass this way again. Goodbye my friend. Jerry Hughes
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  • (10/10/2009 4:45:00 PM)

    where we can meet
    beyond words

    Rachel Ann Butler
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  • (4/20/2009 9:09:00 PM)

    What a beaut it is... your bliss! It evoked memories of past where my father used to flip whenever we brought the new stray dog home. Yes, we did meet at a place to share your bliss- see? (Report)Reply

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  • Fay Slimm (8/22/2008 5:36:00 AM)

    I share this bliss Michael as I too have experienced the same for the same reason, and will always remember that day.. Love to you Fay. (Report)Reply

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  • (7/18/2006 8:21:00 AM)

    Dear Michael, Unconditional love rears its black and white head again. Bliss indeed. love always, Allie (Report)Reply

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  • Nasra Al Adawi (3/18/2005 9:24:00 AM)

    wow there is lots of poems over here....I hope I can read more of your work..This very inspiring poem...different approach (Report)Reply

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  • (2/25/2005 8:27:00 AM)

    An absolutely gorgeous nostalgic piece. (Report)Reply

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  • (2/18/2005 10:58:00 AM)

    Confession, CJ - i'd been reading Carol Ann Duffy and admiring the way she slips in a 'distancing' pronoun into her autobiographical... glad it works, anyway!

    Michael *_*
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  • Cj Heck (2/17/2005 7:19:00 PM)

    (Clapping) Delightful, Michael. I especially love the line, 'My father used to meet that small him who was me'. Truly a genius phrase. Well done. Well done, indeed.
    Warmest regards,
    CJ
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  • (2/17/2005 4:15:00 PM)

    This written after reading Wallace Stevens' 'Modern Poetry' on this site - poetry as 'the search for what will suffice'. Worth the read. (Report)Reply

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  • (2/17/2005 3:57:00 PM)

    Yes, the things one remembers! I also seem to have about 24 chambers in my head for those special memories, luckily there were quite a number. It is a pleasant experience when a simple poem like this opens up a couple of them.
    Thanks, Michael.
    H
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  • (2/17/2005 2:54:00 PM)

    I concur with Daily and Hassler - memories galore. Thanks for the ride. (Report)Reply

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  • (2/17/2005 2:34:00 PM)

    Very will written piece which brings back memories of all my new puppies and their no strings attached love.

    Rusty
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  • (2/17/2005 2:10:00 PM)

    Oh Michael how cute. How we remember the joy of a little puppy. Reminds me of my late husband who saw the white bundle I had brought home for my daughter. He demanded we remove it from the house immediately then took it away and after only a few short hours of that joy, my daughter never saw that puppy again.

    OOps said too much again.

    Hugs
    Jan
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  • (2/17/2005 2:09:00 PM)

    hey, Microsoft, tho i'm not presently certain why i like this, i do. for some reason grainy images flickering on an old Super 8 reel come to mind. i enjoy the nostalgia in this piece.

    Jake
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Read poems about / on: school, father, house, green



Poem Submitted: Thursday, February 17, 2005

Poem Edited: Friday, October 5, 2007


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