For the Love of Audrey Hepburn & Many Others - a collection of poems Read online



  For the Love of Audrey Hepburn and Many Others

  A collection of poems

  By Martin Lee Bailey

  PUBLISHED BY

  Martin Lee Bailey

  Copyright © 2012 Martin Lee Bailey

  For the Love of Audrey Hepburn

  Bright Star

  My Favourite Cup

  Rivington Pike

  Summer

  Winter

  The Castle

  The Down Time

  The Harbour

  The Lake

  The Marble Fossil

  The Night of Day

  The Visitor

  Weekend Away

  You Will be Mine!

  The Drifter

  The End?

  To Love Someone

  The Small Hours

  Sub Zero

  A Christmas Sonnet

  The Chameleon

  Haiku

  Tanka i

  Tanka ii

  For the Love of Audrey Hepburn

  She sits in the silence of my room.

  I am consumed by her monochrome beauty,

  I cherish the moments we spend together alone.

  As I gaze into her eyes she looks at the road.

  It could have been anybody but I wanted Audrey.

  She was the only one for me,

  her innocent face made me feel safe

  as a warm meal on a cold day.

  She doesn’t follow me around the room

  never judging or assuming,

  nor does she crave my full attention.

  She just waits, always there for me.

  Audrey Hepburn has never spoken my name,

  not even in passing to some Hollywood star.

  She doesn’t even know I exist

  but I’m sure she loves me.

  A moment of her life, frozen in time;

  stolen and imprisoned in my wooden frame.

  But on that Roman road she happily sits,

  needing me as I need her.

  I wonder if she speaks when I’m not around,

  or gazes round my room.

  Audrey Hepburn, what are you thinking?

  Share just one thought with me.

  Bright Star

  She sat beside me and I was drawn into her orbit-

  as if on a collision course.

  A satellite, a meteorite, a dust particle,

  an insignificant entity - magnetised.

  She was my Sun and I, her worshiper.

  She warmed me and I basked in her.

  Her innocence masked her true potential,

  her true identity.

  If only she knew what she had done,

  what she was capable of,

  I was happy to sit back and watch her blossom.

  And as summer turned to autumn to winter

  and then to spring

  I sat gazing at my bright star;

  waiting for the supernova,

  waiting to be engulfed.

  My Favourite Cup

  It takes years of pondering to find the right cup;

  the right shape and weight, the pattern, the handle.

  It is not just a drinking vessel

  It is a portal to a world of relaxation.

  Maybe I’m wrong and it is just a cup

  but I’d be lost without my favourite.

  She has picked me up when I’ve felt alone

  even with her chipped rim

  she makes the perfect brew.

  As I caress her, I know she won’t let me down.

  It was another jealous cup that chipped her

  in the washing up bowl, trying to win my attention.

  Maybe I should love all my cups the same

  but I’d be lost without my favourite.

  Rivington Pike

  From the Pike, I see hills

  and trees and greenery;

  all the beauties of the countryside,

  this peaceful gracious majesty.

  The rays of light, a welcomed gift

  caress my body as I rest.

  And in a daze my thoughts provoked,

  by sounds of birds that have flown their nest.

  But it’s you I see through my closed eyes

  your gentle grace and tenderness.

  Your warmth more precious than the Sun

  your voice so sweeter than any bird song.

  Your silhouette can raise a smile,

  much bigger than any landscape on Earth.

  You are my source of life;

  I am your satellite, orbiting around you!

  Summer

  We used to walk for miles and miles

  but never need to rest our feet,

  through buttercups and fields of cows

  where dandy golden lions would meet.

  We raced and chased with happy smiles

  in never-ending summer heat,

  where hide and seek would occupy

  and childhood days would be complete.

  And now on gazing back I find

  The images that spring to mind.

  Of daisy chains and lemonade

  those leap-frog days in summertime.

  And if I could, I’d go there now

  To buttercups and fields of cows.

  Winter

  A chill in the air but yet no breeze,

  Between the naked, silent, trees.

  Spiky branches full of anger,

  stripped by autumn winds.

  Birds and squirrels filled with hunger,

  searching scraps for meals.

  And here, I sit in my cosy chair,

  in choking warmth, I gasp for air.

  And through the window, diamonds fall,

  On salted ground, I watch them shrink.

  As children make an icy ball

  I know its time to raise my drink.

  To the memories of countless days

  In winter, pastel shades of grey.

  The Castle

  The horse chestnuts stand guard

  while sycamores line the track.

  The Sun bellows in, pointing the way

  and a tiny frog, leaps into the undergrowth.

  I hold my breath

  as I reach a clearing in the forest.

  And there, in full view of the wildlife

  is the remains of the castle.

  I want to explore the grounds, relive

  the adventures of previous tenants,

  look across the lake to see

  flaming arrows fired from the opposite bank.

  But all I see are empty beer cans,

  burnt wood blackened by fire,

  spray paint spattered stone walls,

  and used condoms.

  The Down Time

  The down time creeps up like old Bolton smog

  soaking into my flesh

  and trickling black treacle

  that thickens from within the mesh

  of chaos, thoughts, decisions

  crossroads and dead ends.

  And before long the gloom of the down time

  becomes regular time and time stands still.

  When I’m up I smile and glow

  Like the summer solstice

  but when the down time sneaks up

  I feel the cold and sadness

  of every broken heart, every loss, every goodbye.

  I reach for the pills and the down time dissolves.

  The Harbour

  From this very spot I can see the blue horizon

  as the sky kisses the sea.


  White feathered scavengers floating

  on pockets of warm air as if dangling from an invisible wire.

  Occasionally dropping in ambush formation.

  A weathered beacon rising from the wharf;

  Its sandstone body battered and assaulted.

  I stand behind the whale’s jawbone

  and soak up the view of the ruin,

  through its ivory frame.

  The wind whispers untold stories through the arches

  as the ghost of the Demeter enters the harbour.

  The Lake

  A branch reaches out like a thoughtful hand

  and penetrates the surface with it’s tip.

  Two lovers embraced and laid on the sand

  to enjoy the moistened touch of their lips.

  The images reflected from landscape

  to water, creates a distorted view

  of the lovers, who have planned their escape

  to the deep and crystal watery blue.

  The icy water would silence their scream

  Should they feel the need to raise the alarm

  but the lovers retreat into their dreams

  And gently swim into each others arms.

  As green turns to brown and in turn to white

  Surrounding the lake, a sheet of pure ice.

  The Marble Fossil

  You sit on my desk as if guarding my paper from gusts of wind;

  Cold, hard, bold.

  Your black mottled body follows

  the contours of a prehistoric shrimp;

  smooth and shiny, wavy lines of a fishes scales.

  Were you machined in a factory

  on a production line of paper weight fossils?

  Or discovered by a man, walking his dog.

  Or a small child skimming stones by the river.

  The Night of Day

  Stood on the ledge of a cliffs edge,

  the tick-tock tempo of my heart.

  This is the spot I made my love pledge

  as the evening faded to dark.

  The Sun is now gone and all that remains

  is the black and distant landscape.

  A silhouette shape of a tree on the plain

  a reminder of all my mistakes.

  I cannot see the ground far below

  Though I know that my bones would break

  if I fell, from the height of the edge of the cliff,

  an image, I cannot escape.

  So I will defeat death by walking away

  and illuminate the night of day.

  The Visitor

  A ray of blinding silver light,

  crept slowly up my wall,

  as grass arose from tender sleep

  beneath the garden brawl.

  I pulled the covers to my nose

  and tried to close my eyes

  in disbelief of sight and sound

  and then to my surprise,

  an echoed silence pushed its way

  between the shattered din.

  the only sound that I could hear

  was pulsing deep within.

  But all the while, the midnight breeze

  revoked my right to sleep.

  And so I ventured from my bed

  to chance a little peep.

  A saucer shape of shiny steel,

  had landed on the grass.

  A troop of tiny aliens

  Were tapping on the glass!

  Weekend Away

  Beneath an unfamiliar feathered quilt,

  the movement of limbs creates waves on the bed.

  The drifting of my body, unaware of the time

  suddenly stirs and wakes.

  The Sun is already pouring in through the curtains

  and patterns crash against the wall.

  In the distance the seagulls are calling out

  to the fishermen who have returned with a hefty load.

  As I open my heavy eyelids and the room comes into focus

  the sounds from the sea float into my ears

  the sight of the strange décor brings the promise of joy

  and the remainder of my senses burst with anticipation.

 

  You Will be Mine!

  I’ll make you laugh; I’ll make you smile.

  I’ll use my charm; I’ll use my style.

  I’ll give you drinks; I’ll get you drunk.

  You’ll look at me and see a hunk.

  We’ll have a meal; we’ll have a dance.

  We’ll dim the light for ambience.

  I’ll kiss your lips; I’ll kiss your neck.

  You’ll say to me, “Oh what the heck”.

  Forget your worries and your cares,

  as I race you up the stairs.

  We’ll shed our clothes in record time

  and I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine.

  The Drifter

  It drifted into town, small and insignificant and it grew. Latching on to the jigsaw puzzle; swimming in the human soup. And still it grew. Multiplying and dividing, babies crying, humans dying then it stopped.

  They all lay down, everyone.

  Casualties from towns and cities, the young, the old; nobody was left out. If you had a heart, a brain, a soul you dropped.

  Up again, though not the same; reprogrammed, rewired, scrambled, expired. A vacant stare through clouded eyes. DNA violated, living souls terminated. The living dead have congregated, except the ones that stayed alive, the lucky few that have survived. But for how long.

  I said… how long.

  The End?

  Crafted in sandstone, cosmetically, curved edges.

  Green with age and slightly oblique.

  Damp beneath the old Oak tree but nevertheless

  Still retains an air of youth.

  A childish message for a loved one,

  A painful reminder for the ones left behind.

  Unable to touch but able to feel,

  A silent prayer from a non religious soul,

  Feeling obliged to commune,

  Touched by the sight of your resting place.

  Till we meet again, will we meet again?

  Or is this the end?

  To Love Someone

  To love someone is a gift.

  To feel them when they are not there

  and miss their presence.

  Not needing, that is ugly, just wanting.

  Just wanting their touch and feel,

  Feeling them close; their warm breath

  Or a tender kiss just to let you know.

  To love someone is a gift.

  Unconditionally, but you know deep down

  You know, you just know.

  And when the love is returned

  It is amplified beyond belief.

  Love has no limits or boundaries.

  To love someone is a gift.

  The Small Hours

  Eyes no longer wide, they try to hide

  the burning inside my lids;

  blurring as the TV winds down

  the drip fed drivel of repetition.

  Ah! I’m no fool and wont be dragged into a

  world of television for television’s sake.

  But just for company I will partake

  and have it on low for background noise.

  And I sit with only the TV for company,

  watching repeats of programmes

  that I didn’t rate the first time round.

  It’s getting late but I am glued,

  overcome by the numbness of

  boredom and tired as the small hours

  steal the sleep before my eyes.

  No longer wide…

  Sub Zero

  The cold wraps around me like a blanket

  working in reverse draining my body heat

  and stiffening my bones.

  I tense my muscles and feel the shiver,

  creep up my aching spine.

  It devours the warmth leaving
a trail

  of ice cold destruction.

  There is no reassurance

  from my extra jumper

  Just annoyance.

  Shit, it’s cold!

  A Christmas Sonnet

  Droplets of rain hang from the naked limbs,

  stripped of their leaves in the cold autumn breeze.

  Bitter and harsh as the breeze turns to wind,

  the sky becomes grey, the world starts to freeze.

  Spears of water descend from high above

  in a perilous attack on our will

  and we spin in slow motion, devoid of

  emotion as our town comes to stand still.

  Winter arrives as the snow starts to fall

  and a thin coat of perfect ice gathers.

  Ignoring the cold, the children make balls

  And throw them as if nothing else matters.

  The temperature drops and heating bills rise

  as we raise a glass and eat our mince pies.

  Chameleon

  Every detail is significant –

  The man reading the paper

  in the white van on the right.

  Workmen wearing high-vis jackets

  digging on the left.

  Plenty of conversations,

  non of which are relevant

  but years of training forces me

  to employ my skills at every occasion.

  Did I mention the tax is due on the van?

  I need to be observant and invisible.

  I’m a chameleon and this is my Madagascar.

  Haiku

  On a winter’s night

  I’d walk for miles in the snow

  Just to see your smile.

  Tanka i

  Seasons pass us by

  as the Sun rises and falls

  But I remain here

  As your anchor in the sea

  So you may not drift away.

  Tanka ii

  Stories seldom told

  Of an underdog hero

  That pulls himself up

  To become the knight you love

  Well my dear that night has come.