I didn’tunderstand it, we’d been dating a year and Raph never touched me in public. He didn’t mind when I rubbed his back in the mall or if I made the effort to lace my fingers through his. When I first pecked him on the cheek in public he blushed bright red.
I asked him one day why he didn’t touch me in public. In private he couldn’t keep his hands off me. He didn’t mind cuddling at home and he often tangled his hand in my hair or massaged the back of my neck while we watched TV. I adored these touches but didn’t understand why he was afraid to initiate small bits of PDA.
I explained to Raph how it was important to me because it made me feel like I was his, that he loved me, and didn’t care what anyone else thought of us. He was angry at first and confused, but the next day as we grocery shopped he linked his pinky through mine while we waited to pay.
Two days later he casually put his arm around my shoulders at his friend’s house. I snuggled into him kissing him when his buddy went to grab more beer. I linked my pinky with his and smiling, Raph returned the kiss as his friend walked into the living room. I was thrilled Raph understood how much these small touches meant to me.
Thank you again to the gracious SpillWords for publishing a piece of my poetry. This is a brand new recent piece, never published anywhere before the SpillWords website. The poem is called: “Almost Lovers.” Both based off my own experience and the song of the same name by the band A Fine Frenzy.
Patriots was a genuine fifty-style’s diner. Darla a new waitress, was thrilled to have her first job part-time there. Off to the side of the diner was a jukebox near a small dance floor.
On Friday and Saturday nights, elderly couples could be found dancing here to their favourite fifties tunes. But Christmas Eve was the ‘big ticket’ event. Tables were cleared for a larger dance floor and a diner-style feast was served.
Darla watched once WWII-era toddlers, dancing in fifties garb with pep. She was only fifteen, but as she waitressed throughout high school, Christmas Eve would become by her favourite night at Patriots. She hoped one day she would meet a guy she could still dance with when they were eighty.
Distance may separate, years pass –our love’s sworn.
Who was she? Thank her hurtfulness thoughtfully,
Pain healed, gave –love, passion, silence comfortably.
Life rolls by you think you’re forgotten but wait —
Your heart holds me , for love it’s never too late.
——– The Licentia Rhyme Form, a poetic form created by Laura Lamarca, consists of at least three – 12-line stanzas with 11 syllables per line. Of course, the poem can be elongated adding on to the following rhyme scheme: aabbccddeeAA, BBffgghhiiAA, CCjjkkllmmAA. The Licentia Rhyme Form is named after Laura Lamarca’s signature, “La” and “Licentia” is Latin for “Freedom.” – Shadow Poetry
Thank you to K.L. Caley from new2writing for hosting #Maydays prompts. Today’s prompt is beauty, something or someone beautiful. I’m reposting a poem I wrote for my Great-Godmother. She is a special person to me and doing well past her mid-nineties in age.
There is beauty in your wrinkles,
A deep timely beauty, that took experience to make.
You are more than classic; you are infinitely lovely and gorgeouse.
No twenty-two year old in all her youthful vigor is so pretty,
That she can have more knowledge than your reflective eyes.
Or more inspiration then your smiles give,
More thoughts racing through her mind, of a life both hard and incredible.
Your beauty is eternal, a flame that won’t die out.
You shall carry it to heaven with you because you loved a child in a manger and your faith made your life well.
You are more exotic and enchanting then any woman in the land;
You are the light of home to many.
When your presence fades there shall be a void felt by all those who loved your luminescence;
A beauty which was internal and spread to your warm skin.
A beauty that inhabits everyone of your loved ones and friends.
You are simply marvellous, a dame that no one can compare with.
You had husbands, boyfriends, and partners with which you shared your life and your beauty with delight.
You out-lived them all with your smile and a bounce in your step.
Your wrinkles are truly beautiful because they tell your story.
A story growing up on a farm, a story of loss, a house in the city, a story of love, and fond memories.
And through it all shone your pretty face.
Those bright eyes and your laughing mouth; your wonderful hugs, good wishes —
And your many roles throughout your life.
Beauty lies in everything those roles made you; you were unstoppable.
In your stylish shoes and upbeat attitude.
You are lovely, and will always be to me a Grandma, a Great-Godmother, and a friend.
Such wisdom you hold, your wisdom you cooked into pies, soups, trifles, lasagna;
Your hospitality made you beautiful.
You are the rarest rose in the garden;
Loved by so many and so many you have met.
This is why I say your wrinkles make you beautiful,
For you are incredible, a gem in a pile of fakes.
A fantastic woman and every year as you age your beauty is much deeper.