Friday, February 24, 2006

The flickering fire

Iris lived in an older type house that her mother had lived in for ages. She had managed to retain tenancy of it after her mother died and had been quite happy there on her own as it was on a main bus route and handy for work..
It had been built around the turn of the century and although there had been some modernisation over the years, there was still an old coal-burning fireplace in the living-room. I hadn’t seen one since I was a child and it always seemed to make the room look warmer on cold winter evenings.
This fireplace figured in several poems that I wrote to her during our relationship. Later, we had it taken out and replaced with central heating; it was never the same after that! Writing poetry about making love in front of a radiator doesn’t have the same appeal somehow!

This, I think, was one of the last poems I wrote wherein I mentioned the “Flickering fire”

Iris…. Just for you July ‘77

One night it was, as you and I, softly by the flickering fire
And arms about each other did ensnare,
When, bursting from me came this wild desire
To kiss those tender lips and silken hair.
It was the night; the night I said I loved you.

‘Twas on that night, our lips first met as silently we drew together,
And holding you, kept whispering your name.
It seemed the magic of that night would linger there and stay forever,
But all too soon, the grey of morning came.
It was the night; the night I said I loved you.

I well remember, cradled in my arms in fond embrace,
Another night like this, we spent as one.
And as I held you close and lavished kisses on your angel face,
I knew that I would never be alone.
It was the night; the night you said you loved me.

1 comment:

elizabeth adele said...

That really is a lovely poem, written to perfection. You have a talent for poetry.