The Loving Muse
The night window was sparkling with old rain
Behind a vase of dying daffodils.
That was spring in my English village,
Geese splashing into puddles
And wet April mornings
When the rain got into my writing paper.
But I’d felt the familiar ache at the wrist –
I’d longed for it all evening,
Throughout the burning chatter of the party.
At last, I was alone with the desk!
I’d longed to rest my head on its hard pillow –
For the midnight hour to come to my table,
For the poem to arrive like a guest,
For whom the blank page stood ready.
I wanted the desk’s dark silence,
It’s ever listening ear –
My Great Dane of a desk,
My faithful wooden dog,
Stood waiting for me.
To Where the Train Goes
Only the train could take me there
And under its quiet power
It took me on that journey of its own.
So I let my feelings run loose like hares
To gallop out across the passing fields.
I had to retrieve a thought from a tree
Where my eyes had lodged, thinking of you.
Your words pressed themselves upon the dark
Frown of the hills from my pouring window.
To keep those words warm,
I sipped my black Viennese coffee.
Whilst your face appeared at the window,
Your scalding gaze into my long ago eyes,
The hills were bruised by these emotions,
Beaten by my heart and weathered,
Heavy with the imprint of my passion.
The pale stare of the approaching city beheld me
As from a passing mirror.
My life pressed itself against the windows,
In a kind of kiss,
And I, the eye of my life, looked out.
Elizabeth Jane Timms is a poet and is published in various literary journals and magazines, including The Oxonian Review, Coldnoon, North of Oxford Journal, Nine Muses Poetry, Allegro Poetry Magazine and elsewhere. Forthcoming poetry includes a mini-collection of ten poems, in Trafika Europe Journal.