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Poetry Magnum Opus

The Only Girl


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I was nervous, I admit it,

as I rang the bell, having walked down

from the house, a journey I had made

so many times when I was a teenager

and you were my girl.


You were a bloody awful girlfriend

as I recall, so moody, so bitchy,

inclined to throw tantrums, so

beautiful drop-dead gorgeous

when I held you on my arm.


There we were sweet Máire mo chroí

floating over the streets of Dublin

back in the days of our fresh-faced youth

and terrible innocence. I’d be sneering

at the passing boys, I felt seven feet tall.


I was in love with you.


All the many years that have passed us over,

different countries, different children,

I can hear the bell ring in your house

as I wait for you to answer, and I feel

suddenly seventeen.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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Very nicely carried from "back in the day" to today, Brendan. I wonder if the speaker will be disappointed when she answers? Perhaps he'll even be heartbroken. (It happens!) On the other hand, even if the present doesn't quite match the memory, it can become the moment of getting over, of moving on, of closure, so to speak. Very well done.



Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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There's a "back story" to this one which ties in to my visit to Ireland last summer.

(things I never knew about at the time but recently, starkly, was made aware of)


The memories crowd down:

ghosts at the feast

don't ever ever ever unearth them.


Turns out she ...

well it's too late now.


Our lives have gone in different directions, I'm through with pain,


and it's all over now

Baby Blue.

Edited by dedalus

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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Larsen M. Callirhoe

master piece my friend.


prince michael

Larsen M. Callirhoe

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My "wow" is directed at both your well placed, well used words, as well as when I let my mind wander to the 'what might have beens'. Nice piece.



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I think we use poetry as a way of dealing with the emotions brought out in the course of living our lives. It's a way of trying to come to terms with the things that have moved or deeply disturbed us, a displacement activity, a form of self-analysis. That's why so much juvenile poetry (not to be spurned!) is self-centred and concerned almost entirely with feelings. That's how it begins. Later you tend to branch out, explore other people apart from yourself, either that or retreat into nature which seems safe and calm and eternal. It's a journey with no end in sight ... and we certainly can't be accused of doing it for money!!

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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Hey, Bren. This is very clear poem. It's obvious that it's written from a heart.



The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia



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