Late To The Table

Lamps turned down

Dim dusky smoke haze

Rendering surreal dream state

To landscapes of chair topped tables

Cluttered matchstick legs

Forest of complicated shadows

Through which glide

White apron’d ghosts

Who seem to be rattling chains

Of porcelain china cups clinking softly

Cutlery orchestra tuned

To after hours cafe soundtrack.

The window lets in

Faded sodium light

Casting your hair into old bronze

Darkening lips arches

Of deep, rich wine

Housing subtle curls

Wax seals murmuring “open us”

With irresistible invitation.

I’m sorry I kept you waiting

I got lost

Turned about in dust bland corridors

I couldn’t find the exit

Turned about and about again

By the currents of wet cobblestones

Adrift in my thoughts

Could only follow the bright star

Of my longing to find this harbor

Coming in alone

Keel grinding up on the shores

Of your coyly skirted knees.

I see as the smile

Dances like a candle flame

Blown in the breeze of hurried hands,

Carried to the windows of your eyes

That you have some welcome for me

Fingertips creeping across the no mans land table middle

To meet mine as I sit

Furtive digits slipping into the spaces of each other

Framed in last call lighting

Late, but not too much so

Let us linger, you and I

On these last shores of night

Let the waves take us out darkly to dawn.


7 Responses to “Late To The Table”

  1. as an infant, your gaze sent a clear message about prior knowledge
    you are, indeed, an ancient soul
    use that wisdom

    this poem has smoky hints of your great grandfather in it

  2. a little to the left and behind; ever attentive Says:

    The poem has a look and flavour to it. Smoke, dust, lighting – all flashed sparks of grampa. He played piano and may well have been in that kind of environment. He was also an artist, romantic and sometimes cloaked in silent dark moods. As I read, his memory quickly came to mind as did your penetrating gaze.

    Grampa was a man of your age early in the last century. Be mindful of the wonderful sparks launched by your words. Seek every opportunity to direct your creativity in the engagement of readers – of every age and stripe.

  3. a little to the left and behind; ever attentive Says:

    silent dark moods are a family birth mark for some of us; two words of response and the cloud has lifted
    thank you

  4. Here’s the deal. When allowed to react to art, certain aspects may initially leap out to form a preliminary response.

    These words:
    smoke haze
    chair topped tables
    porcelain china cups

    old bronze
    deep, rich wine

    candle flame

    Aside from the story being told, they sparked an instant, powerful connection to my grandfather and the era of his young life at the close of the first world war – fascinating yet valid response to art!

    You put it out there and magic happens.

    • You know, that is the most I think I’ve ever heard about my great grandpa ever. I have always heard stories about grandma’s family, aunt Ola and uncles Ted and George, but I know next to nothing about the great grand folks. Thanks for that dad. 🙂

  5. been thinkin’ on this
    not your most dazzling work
    lets the reader in to imagine a bit while the story unfolds
    your blazes of phrases are worth every second under the eye
    this is more tasty to the brain – a scene to be revisited

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