A POEM FROM MY TEENAGE SELF

I’m discovering that Dad kept lots of things from me which I have completely forgotten. Amongst the latest batch is a poem I wrote when in my mid-teens. To understand some of the allusions, it helps to know that my bedroom had wallpaper featuring Greek and Roman gods in green and gold, and that I also had a statuette of the Virgin Mary, very simply made in white porcelain with a gold rim painted round the edge of her robe. I called the poem

INFLUENCE

Trapped by the dungeon key
of my rage and misery,
in white and gold serenity
Lady, you irradiate silently
so that the pagan figurines
step down and lean
round me in shadows green and grey
and with their lutes pay
homage, in singing sweet and silent as the air.

While the milky morning
with cold suspended breath is listening
at the window, the golds
of silver birch leaves old
catch fire from an autumn sun
that ripens red among dun
hedges of cloud, and birds speak thoughtfully.

Trees near and fields far,
forms of still life that are
ever beautiful, smiling and mysterious
as an Eastern virgin, with finger pressed
to lips, and never a word
what she has heard
from the young morning Power that conquers body and blood.

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20 thoughts on “A POEM FROM MY TEENAGE SELF

    1. There’s something therapeutic about getting in touch with one’s younger self – even if it’s only to sigh with relief that you are no longer at that stage in your life!

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  1. What a fab poem, you wrote it so well, have you written more since then ? how lovely finding it though. Start writing again when you get time g, thanks for sharing with us :)xx

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  2. wow that is lovely – very mature for your years and evocative… beautiful!

    I think you will do some wonderful writing when you finally get some space in your retirement…:yes: I look forward to reading more in the future :)xxx

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      1. I am sure you will find all your creative and inspired words in a wonderfully matured and even better form :yes: Aged like fine wine ! šŸ˜€ How wonderful – something very lovely to look forward to! šŸ™‚

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    1. I used to write non-stop, and read voraciously: life has got in the way! Last time I wrote a poem was after my father’s death, 18 months ago. I keep meaning to … but somehow my creative juices are partially dammed up so it doesn’t come as easily as it used to. I’m hoping that retirement next year will give me the mental space and relaxation I need!

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      1. Thanks for the encouragement! Wow, 400 88|

        One of the reasons I’m sorting out my parents’ archives is that I want to write something … not sure what yet … šŸ™„

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