Welcome to My Poetry Site

231,038 poems read

 

The diary blushed again
 

The diary has continued to accumulate, it holds

A record of a man's love for a beautiful woman

And his unstinting efforts to both keep and to

Please her.

 

She drove him to distraction, she drove his

Senses wild, she walked around the house

In less than might be dignified. His head was

On swivel, where next, the next surprise, he

Didn’t have to wait too long, ‘my God, that

Dress is tight.’

 

Dairy's feeling sad again today, no entry for

Some time now, cold hand on the cover, cold

Hand on the pen, but wait, suddenly a surprising

Entry that puzzled the diary immensely.

 

Sometimes love all too readily evaporates, only

To be recalled or come into sharp focus later,

When perhaps loneliness strikes the heart and

Through the gloom we fondly look back to better

More affectionate times.

 

A strange passage thought the diary but then he

Hasn't been himself for a while now… interrupting

This chain of thought the diary unexpectedly opened

And the first entry for ten days or more proved to

Be in a warmer lighter more delicate hand.

 

Dear diary, I am at a loss to understand this illness

Only got back today and the malady seems to

Be worse than before I left...

 

The diary momentarily convulsed and once again

Spun its pages in shock and pain. 'You're a woman'

It began, 'Don't you know what's wrong with him

Can't you see?' 'Why just looking at him laying

There, I'd say the boy's love sick and lower than

A coal miner's Davy lamp'.

 

Turning to look at the bed she saw for the first time

What the diary saw, he was literally pining away,

Love sick up to the gunwales. He'd missed her so

Much, missed meals, moped about until exhausted,

And now he didn't have the strength to lift a cup of

Bouillon to his lips.

 

Deflated she tip-toed over to the bed and sitting on the

Edge felt his hand searching for hers and finding it

Brought it to his lips whispering: 'While you were away

I wrote a love note in my diary for you, if you'd care to

Look,' whereupon she reached for the leather bound

Book and springing the clasp read as follows:

 

In your absence I have yearned for the folds of your

Love, tempting, tormenting, flavoured with the sweet

Dew of fulfilment, soft liquid centre, sweet in the

Only way your love can be. When I am with you I

Am complete and held for a lifetime every time,

Never wanting to leave, always begging to stay.

 

Here she was, in explosive form, having not

Seen him for weeks and there he was, totally

Incapacitated and weakened by her absence.

 

Back at the diary he went on: 'There is no place

On this earth for me any more, darkness beckons

And an end to this pain would be preferable to

Living without you.'

 

Clearly something needed to be done and fast

Something womanly - a restorative of some kind

Perhaps, but what?

 

Thinking on her feet, she propped him up in bed

Urging 'wait there' and left the room.

 

Half an hour later the bedroom filled with a mouth

Watering aroma and opening his eyes, there the love

Of his life, standing absolutely naked holding a

Steaming polystyrene beaker of hot nourishing liquid.

'Which is it to be' she tempted, 'me or the chicken

Soup?'

 

At which point the diary turned red and fell off the

Table.

 

© Joseph G Dawson