He loves to watch her sleep.
Likes to hear her breathe in
And out; see her breasts rise
And fall like sleeping giants.
...
I am in a wheelchair on grass
outside the hospital
I hear birds sing and distant traffic
...
Your mother had given you
a few coins to buy sweets
and on the way you met Fay
and you said
...
Miss Bundlestun watches the man
Next door go down the path to his
Car open the door climb in slam the
Door look up at her and give her an
...
I was on the bus
back from Richmond
where I stayed
a day and night
...
Magdalene sits opposite
her father at the dining table,
her mother is in the kitchen
dishing up the food.
...
Nuala opens
the front door
sees Brian sitting
in his armchair
...
Miss O’Toole moves in her
Broad bed. She scratches
Her behind to relieve an itch.
Tries to harness her dreams
...
It's wintry
the woods are damp
the undergrowth is dull
and few birds sing
...
Terry Collett was born in London in 1947. He has been writing since 1971. He lives in Sussex in England with his wife and three of his eight children. His eldest son died from sepsis in 2014 aged 29.)
Her Beautifulness.
There's an empty cottage
at the end of this lane
Jane said
and there's a large apple tree
in the garden
and no one goes there
so maybe we can look
through the windows
and see what's there
sounds good
you said
and she smiled at you
in her shy manner
and brushed her fingers
through her long black hair
and breathed in
the summer air
and there were birds
flying overhead
and a small brook
running along side
the lane
and you felt happy
being there with her
looking at her profile
at the way her eyes
looked about her
and her flowered summer dress
she said her mother made
and the way she swayed
her hips as she walked
and you sensed her nearness
her just being there
just a fingertip away
and when you came
to the empty cottage
she ran ahead and peered
through the windows
and you came along beside her
and looked through the glass
at the emptiness within
and she said
let's see if the doors are locked
and she ran to the door
and pushed but it was locked
and she said
just a chance we could have gone in
and pretended it was ours
and imagined where
we could have put our furniture
and we could have gone up the stairs
and looked out and pretended
it was our bedroom
and we had just married
and then she was silent
and you stood behind her
and touched her arm
and said
let's go pick some apples
and you can pretend
you're going to cook
an apple-pie
for our dinner instead
and she smiled
and gently pressed her lips
on your cheek
a small wet warmness
entered you
and oh
you thought
as she ran to the tree
that she would always be here
just the summer sun
and she in her beautifulness
and 13 year old me.
I have read your poem 'Together Forever'. It's touching.
Terry Collett is one of the most astonishing, accomplished poets on this site. His work is always like a micro stage play where in a few lines the characters pop out at you and grab you by the throat. They are real and raw; reflective of their times, But don't expect any recognition for your praise; he won't talk to you. He won't discuss motivation, or make any personal comments. But it doesn't matter, I'll just keep enjoying being jolted by a new poem from Terry most mornings.....Marianne Larsen Reninger