on your blessed face [poem]
I had something to say on the train the other day when she sat with splendid beauty in my eyes [but she’ll never read these words so they’re really safe to say]. Now they’re out there in the ether in the splendour of display [how easy in our hindsight to be wise]
The eyes are the window of the soul (so they say) but on your blessed face the window is your mouth and it showed me many places in your heart each subtle smile (i see no guile) each pursing & puckeredness playfully pouting [I think you love to play] both corners together lifted and downed in a way one doesn’t normally see on the mouths of others. There was an irony there Which Looked Like Something From an ancient soul And as for your voice and words and the melismas that I heard I say and I say Golden Oriole he flies so straight with his flashing yellow feathers then he perches at your window on a rock I could peer through that window till the cooing cows come home and even till the crowing of the cock © 2010, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 