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Rated: E · Other · Cultural · #1090352
Candle Maker wrote a poem, I wrote a 2nd part, and Writer of the Winds wrote a 3rd.
A Gesture in Passing (by Candlemaker )

It was only a gesture in passing
On a morbid New York City street
And my courage too slow in the asking
She was nimble on her feet

A pause to consider my options
Stay with comfort and safety today
Or turn quickly and generate pursuit
Before the lovely lass scurried away

Abandon your reason…about face
And walk like a rebel in tow
I don’t have to forfeit all reason
At least I can see where she’ll go

She turns up a slate covered driveway
Where sidewalk and driveway divide
I pose like a nonchalant shopper
Not seeing a good place to hide.

It was only a gesture in passing
On a morbid New York City street
In her radiant glow I am basking
And drinking the joy of her heat


Candlemaker
*******************************************

6/8/04 That Fateful Tuesday (Her Side?)
(by destinydances )

I saw him standing near the hedge,
A sort of longing in his eyes...
Like one who is driven, but clings on the edge
And stifling his reasons why.

He lingered awhile, as if in reverie,
To vindicate the time he'd spent...
His magnificence had really affected me,
But he turned on his heel and went!

My breath became a desperate rhythm...
Too abashed was I to say "hello"...
Though my feet were wanting to walk with him,
My mind said I just couldn't go.

Like one who is driven but steers clear of the edge,
I mope that the chance passed me by.
He never saw me watching him near the hedge
With a longing in my eyes.

****************************************
(by Writer of the Winds )

Let me first apologize to Candlemaker (Hey! It's almost Tuesday AKA "A Gesture in Passing") and DestinyDances (That Fateful Tuesday (Her Side). I know I'm a dork, but I just can't help myself...so, *sigh* I had to do the dog's tale in this sordid affair. laugh

So with apologies to the aforementioned poets, here is....

That Miserable Tuesday: The Dog's Tale

I remember that fateful day
Like a simpleton he let her go
And then he groaned a mournful song
Like a man filled with woe

She was divine, an exquisite queen
Dressed to the nines in fur
And as she glided down the street
I’m thought I heard her purr

Man’s best friend, a fur ball on paws
There was nothing I could do
And as he stood there filled with desire
His face was an ashen hue

He was like a gondola oarsman
Who sang a barcarole song
Cast adrift on a coastal sea
And his face seemed so long

This tiresome song with rueful sounds
How long could it possibly last
As he cast a wistful look
In the direction she had passed

I raised my head and gave a howl
Perchance she’s turn at the sound
But her steady gait she did not abate
For she was heading toward downtown

I’ll never understand the intricate ways
Of these people we call men
They fall apart at every scent
Of perfume sprinkled in the wind

But yet are paralyzed with fear
And their lives are so static
Frozen in place for love’s duration
And I wonder what fills their attic

But dogs aren’t handicapped by these
Perfume doesn’t causes us torment
It takes not courage to chat her up
For we just sniff her scent

So this master of mine will kick himself
Because he let this girl slip through
And another day with another face
He’ll do it all anew


Winds
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