J.E.Simon
A samovar
With all the hopes of a tea filled life.
The tap that drips a little sometimes,
But it is a warm tear free of fear
Rather than a wasted year
For if we had not loved
If we had never shone
Rather then, a wasted year
It isn’t for us, if it isn’t to be
If it be; be us
See, I will love you always
Even through the rust.
I will love you always
In Samovar; in trust.
© 2015 J.E.Simon (2013)
Oh Pushkin, where art thou this day?
By the benches, the roadside,
The steps and the flowers.
By the lovers that kiss by arrangement.
Would you meet there
With me, for ice-cream and tea?
No, I must have a prior engagement.
Would you mind if I smoke with old Dusty?
As he sits near the books for all time.
We’ll talk over white coffee and black cigarettes
Of a high numbered, gothic rich rhyme.
And maybe, perhaps, probably, then we’ll see
If we have left a little of time.
We’ll find an old ink well and take to the quill
And challenge an old bottle of wine.
© 2015 J.E.Simon (2013)
They dance, and by chance I notice
The trees in white silk dresses.
They sway in pairs and alone by the road
One outwards leans and another,
By contrast, in
Towards the path
Swinging a paso doble by traffic lights entranced
© 2015 J.E.Simon (2013)
Sketch © 2015 Simon Clifton
Muscovy Commotion 