Late Love Poem by Jackie Kay
Late Love
How they strut about, people in love,
How tall they grow, pleased with themselves,
Their hair, glossy, their skin shining.
They don't remember who they have been.
How filmic they are just for this time.
How important they've become - secret, above
The order of things, the dreary mundane.
Every church bell ringing, a fresh sign.
How dull the lot that are not in love.
Their clothes shabby, their skin lustreless;
How clueless they are, hair a mess; how they trudge
Up and down the streets in the rain,
remembering one kiss in a dark alley,
A touch in a changing room, if lucky, a lovely wait
For the phone to ring, maybe, baby.
The past with its rush of velvet, its secret hush
Already miles away, dimming now, in the late day.
I am a very good writer and I am planning on starting to write poems, any tips?
Love is always alive; love is always present; love is always active; it can't be a being of late! inspired; nice to read
Very moving poem. People change, when they are in love. Brainwashed
Too many single people mistake infatuation for responsibility which is love. Infatuation only ever lasts a short time for everyone.
The Makar is a communist, lesbian, black, woman because she's communist, lesbian, black and a woman. And before you say " Oh, don't be so cynical" ask yourself if it didn't come up in the board room. Nobody mentions that she's a black, LGBT, woman? Her poetry is gash, man. I'm a working class bloke, but I like poetry, and I've finished reading her stuff now, and I don't understand any of this. It's written for the intellectuals not the Plowman.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 5:44:58 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Touching poem, lovely work and a very talented writer, thanks for the read