Poetry | Page 5 | Fab Forum | The Beatles Bible

The Tear in My Hand

The rain trickles down my lover’s neck as we kiss goodnight
and a single tear travels down her face.
Somehow this goodnight feels much more like a goodbye.
There are no gentle murmurings or pristine lullabies left
to break through our sense of loneliness and shadows.
Starry-eyed and laughing we are not.
The air hangs heavy with the anticipation of memories
which shimmer and clang, glimmer and damn.
We watch as, one by one, all the stars above go out.
I did always try to tell her that life was sad as well as funny;
if only I could’ve made those sad bits entertaining
perhaps our bedroom games wouldn’t have slipped
so easily into nothing more than snarling shuffles —
bruised and vandalised by the rawness of reality.
Perhaps the fault does lie with me alone though.
I spent so long trying to convince her to be her own woman
I forgot too often to mention I’d still like for her to be mine too.
I still remember the joy felt on our first night however,
she seemed to me to be all glowing curves and sensual smile,
and I danced as if I were recovering from an accident.
Later, beneath her window, we kissed ever so clumsily,
and it was the kind of kiss which doesn’t just move you,
but instead drops you violently to your knees.
With a furious flash of her white teeth
she asked if I was coming up for coffee,
and with her invitation dangling in the air like a string of pearls
I found myself stumbling with intoxication up her stairs.
She soon came through with two mugs,
she topped mine with brandy, then she settled on my knee.
She laughed, gently, “I’m really into the sensual pleasures,
so just where is it I might really enjoy your lips?”
Lips colliding, tongues exploding, she asked why I should stay the night.
I gulped, swallowed, didn’t really know just what to say,
found myself burbling, “I think I could be a real fun lover,
I’ve studied how they think it should be done when I watch TV.”
She gracefully giggled, said she’d need to think about it,
then grinned she thought it might be good fun to see.
And our union was a revelation.
Our union was the sound of two chained souls breaking free,
no longer rolling in rain clouds.
Our love seemed all the more poignant for its obvious failings,
for the fact we believed in the eternal smell of summer,
and were still young enough to not know just what we were doing,
to not know just what we were meant to be doing.
And, as she offered me her lipstick smooth caresses,
I really wanted nothing more than to offer her her promised land,
so now it seems so strange just how very quickly
all that pure passion crumbled to ash within our sweaty hands.
Our nighttime pleasure still often culminated
in that gentle tidal wave of sighs and fresh surprise,
perhaps that’s why it took me some time to finally realise
no longer could I claim to be the stranger lost in paradise.
What had once seemed purer than an angel’s milk
had somehow slipped into a web of casual violence and violent sex.
She began to leave a bitter taste in my mouth
but still claimed the sticking of her stilettos through my buttocks
was really little more than just a judicious accident.
And so now we are left with her tear nestling in my hand
as I gently wiped away her smudged mascara,
and though I yearn so much to walk away from all of this
I can do little to resist the hand she offers me.

Then and Now

You ask me if I love her still.
Your question strikes me as odd.
We’d reached that point where nothing much added up or mattered,
found that we were treasuring not all that we’d gained,
but all that we felt we’d somehow lost.

And it seems to me to be so many months
since last we held the secret of each other’s smiles.
We fought rather long and hard as we tried our best to regain
the strength we found in the earlier days of our loving,
those moments which made us worthwhile.

And I’ll gladly admit to loving her
but I love a her that’s so long gone.
Many years have fallen between the us of then and the us of now,
and though we tried we’re now apart because we lost that way,
and the will to find a way to carry on.

Here is some poetry I found (none of it was written by me) about The Beatles which I found very interesting and in some cases sweet enjoy:

John Paul George and Ringo, Liverpool’s best
Their music forever will stand to the test
Thanks be to the Gods we have still Ringo & Paul
What will the next generation do without them all?
Their music will live on till the end of our time
To them and to their fans I dedicate this rhyme

*********************************************************

The Beatles Beat

George and Ringo and John and Paul
Thought they had seen and done it all,
The music, the dope, the girls, the money,
How much fun it is to be funny

At press interviews. And why not, since
Their houses in Liverpool made them wince?
And the cash was unreal, and in the forge
Of the studio, John, Paul, Ringo, and George

Could keep on pushing, and everyone bought–
They could buy whatever they thought.
Remember Lennon’s pink Cadillac car?
Harrison, Lennon, McCartney and Starr

Had nowhere to go so broke they up.
Then one was shot. Then one gave up
The ghost to cancer. And when they’re gone,
Ringo and George and Paul and John

Will lie outside their tapes and CDs,
No more doing just what they please,
But you and I and the rest of the gang
Will keep on singing what they sang.

**********************************************************

There once was a band, four in all, none of which were too big or small.
All
of them sang, but only one drummed. The rest of the band played the things that
are strummed.
They all loved each other, of that there’s no doubt, and that
is the reason this band had worked out.
They all loved performing, for young
girls galore, all of them screaming “We love the Fab Four!”
They travelled
through Europe, America too; the greetings were followed by “I love you!”

They soon stopped performing, the venues too loud, the Beatles too quiet against the love-crazy crowd.
That wasn’t the end though, more songs they
still made, even more shocking, they got better paid!
But after a while they
started to fight, none of them knowing who’s wrong and who’s right.
And then
the end came, the fights got too bad, all of them leaving in tears, and so sad.

They knew it was coming, the outcome was clear, but when the news came
everyone shed a tear.
John, George, Paul, and Ringo, who travelled the land,
had found the conclusion, they must end the band. :'(

***************************************************

All credit goes to the writers of these poems

 

Jawdropping! A very different style and voice to earlier pieces you have posted. I am struggling to lift my chin from the floor, you remarkable woman!