Poetry / Poets

2 Poems by Anne Bradshaw

Waking Up in France
 
I listen to the echoes in the French lemon light,
and it’s the purest citron of all hazy summer mornings.
Below, the market square awakes to cobbled clichés,
calls and cries and greetings – buoyant, unloosed, alive.
But the helium-filled bubble outside cannot rise
to the bitter depths of this third-floor appartement.
The black rail of the balcon makes curlicues in strident lines,
and sections off that world from this.
 
Back on the bed, I see her, I see him.
Both asleep, still wrapped together, a discordant calm
in everything, an altered state of spent alarm
which no longer includes me.
 
Only the traces of a small, apocalyptic betrayal are here,
reflecting back and forth through stuccoed, lemon-peel light;
vague shadows  – still uneasy, softly shifting, changing shape,
already soured by daybreak, and threatening to suffocate,
invisible, like dust, drifting through the silent drapes,
and lost to the busy air of this French market place.
 
And as the purest yellow light  
is washed like lime across my eyes,
I only wish I could be blind
to the beauty of it.
 
We Fell
 
We fell.
Somewhere between the gaps of the dreams
of what we thought we were,
we fell.
 
Like a couple of empty vessels,
dark spoils laid waste on the tide,
washed up in salt with bones raw as guilt,
in terrible silence we fell.
 
No star-crossed lovers ever felt
this stream of  endless pain,
an Icarus warning of things to come,
slowly but certain we fell.
 
Looking within, or looking without,
yet neither matters now,
the emptiness is what defines
the day that we fell.
 
© Anne Bradshaw, Published in Tuck Online Literary/Arts Magazine, August 2012

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20 thoughts on “2 Poems by Anne Bradshaw

    • I wasn’t sure if this was an appropriate thing to do with my own work, but I just wanted to draw attention to The Blue Hour, and the way Moriah and Susie seem to work is really inspiring to all us poets, I think, here on WordPress. Thanks again for allowing me to be a part of it!

  1. The first poem is so visual. The second goes right to the heart. It calls for action from the reader (I feel I must do something), but then I comfort myself saying “I hope this is fiction.”

    Well done, Anne. Fine writing. Thank you for introducing me to The Blue Hour by linking from your blog.

  2. Very nice work Anne; the first is a favourite of mine, which gets better with every reading – I call it the French Lemon Meringue (or should it be lemon ménage..!) 🙂

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