Sunday, September 8, 2013

Déjà vu



Before you are born,
I paint your half smile.

I see a schoolboy tie;
your sensitive hands touch
an open book.

Your voice floats high
above playground noise,
the sound of scissors.

I hover restless, long,
until your hair is no longer the color
of pencil shavings,

until you speak the low
calm of a red rose.


tk/ September 2013


Thanks to R.A.D. Stainforth for beautifully reading this poem. 

33 comments:

  1. beyond beautiful, this poem - to be savoured again and again

    ReplyDelete
  2. just adore this, esp the colours of pencil shavings..plus Norman Rockwell is one of my favorite illustrators, even visited his museum when i holidayed in the states a few years back.xx.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. There are two resident Norman Rockwell pieces at my dear Columbus Museum of Art...I am always amazed at how thickly and roughly he applied the paint...

      Delete
  3. Floating, hovering and dreamlike - lovely.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Eloquent and quite moving...

    ReplyDelete
  5. Lovely poem .. loved the tenderness in the tone.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Lovely poem .. loved the tenderness in the tone.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Lovely poem.

    The picture sent me in a literal,historic direction, partly because of a PBS documentary.

    ReplyDelete


  8. ah, perfect, color & sound

    ReplyDelete
  9. Pencil shaving hair does it for me...

    ReplyDelete
  10. Such a delight, Tess. I have yet to write my own poem this morning - and oh, you fill me with surprises in yours which inspires me to surprises. Absolutely gorgeous. THANK YOU!!

    ReplyDelete
  11. So I read your poem and wound up with another one today, besides the one I posted, coming off your first line and the idea of trains. Thanks for that.

    ReplyDelete
  12. So tender, so sweet!
    Expected nothing less,
    Tess

    ReplyDelete
  13. So tender, so sweet!
    Expected nothing less,
    Tess

    ReplyDelete
  14. Those months before our sons, daughters are born ~~~ oh, the dreams we have of them, for them.

    ReplyDelete
  15. so tender and sweet those pencil shavings....

    ReplyDelete
  16. Tess, this poem is so beautiful. Thank you, I love it!

    ReplyDelete
  17. I thought I responded to this ... perhaps it was on Facebook. This leaves no doubt you are a mother. I adore this poem. I don't necessarily get the last line... how it ties in. Perhaps your son recently sent you some?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I like how readers take away different things from poetry...I didn't write this with a mother/son perspective in mind...

      Delete
  18. A truly lovely poem, Tess. I liked your view on this.

    ReplyDelete
  19. I instantly thought of a song by Mott the Hoople with these lines. (Thanks Mott)

    Oh I wish I was your mother
    I wish I'd been your father
    'n then I would have seen you
    Would have been you as a child
    Played houses with your sisters
    And wrestled with all your brothers
    And then who knows
    I might have felt a family for a while

    ReplyDelete
  20. Whoa, that was rather haunting. Very well done!

    ReplyDelete
  21. Beautiful...heartfelt...waiting for the day.

    ReplyDelete
  22. How much we dream for our unborn children and then, until reality comes, during their formative years . . . or was that just me??

    ReplyDelete
  23. I like the way you went with this. I thought of a mother/child as well.

    ReplyDelete
  24. Wow....I am usually unable to listen to RAD.....but today I was able and what a delight that was! He almost brings it even more to life than it already is.....I love love love this one Tess!

    ReplyDelete

Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of existence.
― O. Henry (and me)