Four Seasons
Late Autumn.
An eerie stillness infuses the landscape.
You sit outside, back to the whitewashed wall,
Staring through the twilight gloom.
It’s the Winter of your life, the Summer of mine.
Father and son – separated by more than a season.
A sidelong glance, we observe the other observing.
You, what you were,
Me, what I will become.
Mary Magdalene
Trust betrayed,
Your beauty your downfall.
You knew the ways of men
And you a child.
Self-respect long gone,
You squandered your body
For a few coins.
Until someone saw you for you,
Spoke to you as you,
Laughed with you as you.
You cried and he put his arms round you,
His breathing quelled your fears.
In that moment
Your heart forgave
Your trust rekindled.
You learnt to love again.
Your epiphany endured
As did your courage,
No longer afraid to live in love’s shadow.
You cared little what others thought of you –
Except for one, that is,
The one who stole your heart forever.
My Cat Bob
I adopted him when my neighbour died
Or rather he adopted me.
Reserved at first – me that is,
Until familiarity gave way
To its own comfort zone.
A gargantuan tom
Who likes cold tea,
And keeps sentry beside the oven
Whenever I cook fish.
He sprawls out in front of the fire
And purrs loudly
When I rub his fluffy belly.
I have not gone unrewarded
As I have been brought his quarry
From the hunt –
Three birds and a dozen or so mice.
In the morning,
In the stillness of the early hours,
We sip tea together,
His cold, mine hot.
And when I get home, he’s always waiting,
Crouched on the wall
Purring, purring.
Poems copyright © Paul Balfe 2019