Michael Shepherd

Rookie (8.4.1929 / Marton, Lancashire)

! Anna - The Story Of A Love - Poem by Michael Shepherd

The Indians say
that the eater is the eaten.

We caught each other's eye
across a crowded room...
she with her mates,
but blushed in my direction...
and when I looked at her,
she glowed
and I glowed.

She too was ripe for passion.
We couldn't be kept apart;
later in the privacy of my room
my lips sought her unsullied bloom,
the irresistible downiness of her young skin
and soon that soft skin
was moist with passion
as we consumed each other,
and were subsumed in unity.

Now I have died two deaths from love:
first consumed by desire, then
consumed by pleasure.

What a peach she was.

Hey, seize the moment -
there's another in the bowl.

Comments about ! Anna - The Story Of A Love by Michael Shepherd

  • (4/25/2005 10:36:00 PM)

    The real question is whether the peach hanging ripe and juicy is begging to be picked. hmmm! ! (Report)Reply

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  • (3/25/2005 2:44:00 PM)

    Aw Candice you got me wrong.. it's a woman representing a peach...by the Indian understanding, the peach was eating me (Anna-Indian word for food, which is equally subject and object, harhar...): the food is superior to the eater, we are sustained by the earth...maybe it isn't clear enough. I'll try again or delete. I'd just been proofreading the spiritual explanation in the forthcoming 18-volume Hindu Encyclopaedia (plug plug) which applies right through Hinduism. Profuse apologies to womankind for male slur... (Report)Reply

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  • (3/25/2005 2:24:00 PM)

    Aw. A tidbit of Wisdom offered up in a dish- I let it stew for a moment until the savory logic provided me with an itch to read the 'eater is the eaten' again.

    ~yet the use of fruit in representing a woman is 'sad'...so Hey I gave it a 9.

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  • (3/25/2005 1:50:00 PM)

    Typical Male attitude. hehehe Thank goodness at my age you grab the last piece of fruit and savour it to the last little dropp of nectar.
    Often drying out the stone in the middle as a momento of the time you shared savouring its juice. I have a row of Peach pips on my windowsill. A ten from me.


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Poem Submitted: Friday, March 25, 2005

Poem Edited: Friday, October 5, 2007

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