For the Love of Audrey Hepburn and Many Others
A collection of poems
By Martin Lee Bailey
PUBLISHED BY
Martin Lee Bailey
Copyright © 2012 Martin Lee Bailey
For the Love of Audrey Hepburn
Bright Star
My Favourite Cup
Rivington Pike
Summer
Winter
The Castle
The Down Time
The Harbour
The Lake
The Marble Fossil
The Night of Day
The Visitor
Weekend Away
You Will be Mine!
The Drifter
The End?
To Love Someone
The Small Hours
Sub Zero
A Christmas Sonnet
The Chameleon
Haiku
Tanka i
Tanka ii
For the Love of Audrey Hepburn
She sits in the silence of my room.
I am consumed by her monochrome beauty,
I cherish the moments we spend together alone.
As I gaze into her eyes she looks at the road.
It could have been anybody but I wanted Audrey.
She was the only one for me,
her innocent face made me feel safe
as a warm meal on a cold day.
She doesn’t follow me around the room
never judging or assuming,
nor does she crave my full attention.
She just waits, always there for me.
Audrey Hepburn has never spoken my name,
not even in passing to some Hollywood star.
She doesn’t even know I exist
but I’m sure she loves me.
A moment of her life, frozen in time;
stolen and imprisoned in my wooden frame.
But on that Roman road she happily sits,
needing me as I need her.
I wonder if she speaks when I’m not around,
or gazes round my room.
Audrey Hepburn, what are you thinking?
Share just one thought with me.
Bright Star
She sat beside me and I was drawn into her orbit-
as if on a collision course.
A satellite, a meteorite, a dust particle,
an insignificant entity - magnetised.
She was my Sun and I, her worshiper.
She warmed me and I basked in her.
Her innocence masked her true potential,
her true identity.
If only she knew what she had done,
what she was capable of,
I was happy to sit back and watch her blossom.
And as summer turned to autumn to winter
and then to spring
I sat gazing at my bright star;
waiting for the supernova,
waiting to be engulfed.
My Favourite Cup
It takes years of pondering to find the right cup;
the right shape and weight, the pattern, the handle.
It is not just a drinking vessel
It is a portal to a world of relaxation.
Maybe I’m wrong and it is just a cup
but I’d be lost without my favourite.
She has picked me up when I’ve felt alone
even with her chipped rim
she makes the perfect brew.
As I caress her, I know she won’t let me down.
It was another jealous cup that chipped her
in the washing up bowl, trying to win my attention.
Maybe I should love all my cups the same
but I’d be lost without my favourite.
Rivington Pike
From the Pike, I see hills
and trees and greenery;
all the beauties of the countryside,
this peaceful gracious majesty.
The rays of light, a welcomed gift
caress my body as I rest.
And in a daze my thoughts provoked,
by sounds of birds that have flown their nest.
But it’s you I see through my closed eyes
your gentle grace and tenderness.
Your warmth more precious than the Sun
your voice so sweeter than any bird song.
Your silhouette can raise a smile,
much bigger than any landscape on Earth.
You are my source of life;
I am your satellite, orbiting around you!
Summer
We used to walk for miles and miles
but never need to rest our feet,
through buttercups and fields of cows
where dandy golden lions would meet.
We raced and chased with happy smiles
in never-ending summer heat,
where hide and seek would occupy
and childhood days would be complete.
And now on gazing back I find
The images that spring to mind.
Of daisy chains and lemonade
those leap-frog days in summertime.
And if I could, I’d go there now
To buttercups and fields of cows.
Winter
A chill in the air but yet no breeze,
Between the naked, silent, trees.
Spiky branches full of anger,
stripped by autumn winds.
Birds and squirrels filled with hunger,
searching scraps for meals.
And here, I sit in my cosy chair,
in choking warmth, I gasp for air.
And through the window, diamonds fall,
On salted ground, I watch them shrink.
As children make an icy ball
I know its time to raise my drink.
To the memories of countless days
In winter, pastel shades of grey.
The Castle
The horse chestnuts stand guard
while sycamores line the track.
The Sun bellows in, pointing the way
and a tiny frog, leaps into the undergrowth.
I hold my breath
as I reach a clearing in the forest.
And there, in full view of the wildlife
is the remains of the castle.
I want to explore the grounds, relive
the adventures of previous tenants,
look across the lake to see
flaming arrows fired from the opposite bank.
But all I see are empty beer cans,
burnt wood blackened by fire,
spray paint spattered stone walls,
and used condoms.
The Down Time
The down time creeps up like old Bolton smog
soaking into my flesh
and trickling black treacle
that thickens from within the mesh
of chaos, thoughts, decisions
crossroads and dead ends.
And before long the gloom of the down time
becomes regular time and time stands still.
When I’m up I smile and glow
Like the summer solstice
but when the down time sneaks up
I feel the cold and sadness
of every broken heart, every loss, every goodbye.
I reach for the pills and the down time dissolves.
The Harbour
From this very spot I can see the blue horizon
as the sky kisses the sea.
White feathered scavengers floating
on pockets of warm air as if dangling from an invisible wire.
Occasionally dropping in ambush formation.
A weathered beacon rising from the wharf;
Its sandstone body battered and assaulted.
I stand behind the whale’s jawbone
and soak up the view of the ruin,
through its ivory frame.
The wind whispers untold stories through the arches
as the ghost of the Demeter enters the harbour.
The Lake
A branch reaches out like a thoughtful hand
and penetrates the surface with it’s tip.
Two lovers embraced and laid on the sand
to enjoy the moistened touch of their lips.
The images reflected from landscape
to water, creates a distorted view
of the lovers, who have planned their escape
to the deep and crystal watery blue.
The icy water would silence their scream
Should they feel the need to raise the alarm
but the lovers retreat into their dreams
And gently swim into each others arms.
As green turns to brown and in turn to white
Surrounding the lake, a sheet of pure ice.
The Marble Fossil
You sit on my desk as if guarding my paper from gusts of wind;
Cold, hard, bold.
Your black mottled body follows
the contours of a prehistoric shrimp;
smooth and shiny, wavy lines of a fishes scales.
Were you machined in a factory
on a production line of paper weight fossils?
Or discovered by a man, walking his dog.
Or a small child skimming stones by the river.
The Night of Day
Stood on the ledge of a cliffs edge,
the tick-tock tempo of my heart.
This is the spot I made my love pledge
as the evening faded to dark.
The Sun is now gone and all that remains
is the black and distant landscape.
A silhouette shape of a tree on the plain
a reminder of all my mistakes.
I cannot see the ground far below
Though I know that my bones would break
if I fell, from the height of the edge of the cliff,
an image, I cannot escape.
So I will defeat death by walking away
and illuminate the night of day.
The Visitor
A ray of blinding silver light,
crept slowly up my wall,
as grass arose from tender sleep
beneath the garden brawl.
I pulled the covers to my nose
and tried to close my eyes
in disbelief of sight and sound
and then to my surprise,
an echoed silence pushed its way
between the shattered din.
the only sound that I could hear
was pulsing deep within.
But all the while, the midnight breeze
revoked my right to sleep.
And so I ventured from my bed
to chance a little peep.
A saucer shape of shiny steel,
had landed on the grass.
A troop of tiny aliens
Were tapping on the glass!
Weekend Away
Beneath an unfamiliar feathered quilt,
the movement of limbs creates waves on the bed.
The drifting of my body, unaware of the time
suddenly stirs and wakes.
The Sun is already pouring in through the curtains
and patterns crash against the wall.
In the distance the seagulls are calling out
to the fishermen who have returned with a hefty load.
As I open my heavy eyelids and the room comes into focus
the sounds from the sea float into my ears
the sight of the strange décor brings the promise of joy
and the remainder of my senses burst with anticipation.
You Will be Mine!
I’ll make you laugh; I’ll make you smile.
I’ll use my charm; I’ll use my style.
I’ll give you drinks; I’ll get you drunk.
You’ll look at me and see a hunk.
We’ll have a meal; we’ll have a dance.
We’ll dim the light for ambience.
I’ll kiss your lips; I’ll kiss your neck.
You’ll say to me, “Oh what the heck”.
Forget your worries and your cares,
as I race you up the stairs.
We’ll shed our clothes in record time
and I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine.
The Drifter
It drifted into town, small and insignificant and it grew. Latching on to the jigsaw puzzle; swimming in the human soup. And still it grew. Multiplying and dividing, babies crying, humans dying then it stopped.
They all lay down, everyone.
Casualties from towns and cities, the young, the old; nobody was left out. If you had a heart, a brain, a soul you dropped.
Up again, though not the same; reprogrammed, rewired, scrambled, expired. A vacant stare through clouded eyes. DNA violated, living souls terminated. The living dead have congregated, except the ones that stayed alive, the lucky few that have survived. But for how long.
I said… how long.
The End?
Crafted in sandstone, cosmetically, curved edges.
Green with age and slightly oblique.
Damp beneath the old Oak tree but nevertheless
Still retains an air of youth.
A childish message for a loved one,
A painful reminder for the ones left behind.
Unable to touch but able to feel,
A silent prayer from a non religious soul,
Feeling obliged to commune,
Touched by the sight of your resting place.
Till we meet again, will we meet again?
Or is this the end?
To Love Someone
To love someone is a gift.
To feel them when they are not there
and miss their presence.
Not needing, that is ugly, just wanting.
Just wanting their touch and feel,
Feeling them close; their warm breath
Or a tender kiss just to let you know.
To love someone is a gift.
Unconditionally, but you know deep down
You know, you just know.
And when the love is returned
It is amplified beyond belief.
Love has no limits or boundaries.
To love someone is a gift.
The Small Hours
Eyes no longer wide, they try to hide
the burning inside my lids;
blurring as the TV winds down
the drip fed drivel of repetition.
Ah! I’m no fool and wont be dragged into a
world of television for television’s sake.
But just for company I will partake
and have it on low for background noise.
And I sit with only the TV for company,
watching repeats of programmes
that I didn’t rate the first time round.
It’s getting late but I am glued,
overcome by the numbness of
boredom and tired as the small hours
steal the sleep before my eyes.
No longer wide…
Sub Zero
The cold wraps around me like a blanket
working in reverse draining my body heat
and stiffening my bones.
I tense my muscles and feel the shiver,
creep up my aching spine.
It devours the warmth leaving
a trail
of ice cold destruction.
There is no reassurance
from my extra jumper
Just annoyance.
Shit, it’s cold!
A Christmas Sonnet
Droplets of rain hang from the naked limbs,
stripped of their leaves in the cold autumn breeze.
Bitter and harsh as the breeze turns to wind,
the sky becomes grey, the world starts to freeze.
Spears of water descend from high above
in a perilous attack on our will
and we spin in slow motion, devoid of
emotion as our town comes to stand still.
Winter arrives as the snow starts to fall
and a thin coat of perfect ice gathers.
Ignoring the cold, the children make balls
And throw them as if nothing else matters.
The temperature drops and heating bills rise
as we raise a glass and eat our mince pies.
Chameleon
Every detail is significant –
The man reading the paper
in the white van on the right.
Workmen wearing high-vis jackets
digging on the left.
Plenty of conversations,
non of which are relevant
but years of training forces me
to employ my skills at every occasion.
Did I mention the tax is due on the van?
I need to be observant and invisible.
I’m a chameleon and this is my Madagascar.
Haiku
On a winter’s night
I’d walk for miles in the snow
Just to see your smile.
Tanka i
Seasons pass us by
as the Sun rises and falls
But I remain here
As your anchor in the sea
So you may not drift away.
Tanka ii
Stories seldom told
Of an underdog hero
That pulls himself up
To become the knight you love
Well my dear that night has come.