His secret lover came to him by night;
movements soft as whispers (finger light)
like hands about a whisper cupped him whole,
cupped each every part from cock to soul,
‘till he awoke as in a morning dew,
waking to himself as boys will do;
but waking to himself, he could not see
how anyone could love one such as he.

Mistakes he’d made, mistakes he’d never meant,
refused to keep a rose-budding silence
but closed on him with blare and somewhere thud,
clicked shut again shut doors to say they would
never let him go; just as they would never
bring them back–there’d be no magic wand nor ever
song–and so he slept, tried to sleep, pretended
to sleep–


Drafty poem for Shay’s (Fireblossom’s) prompt on Real Toads to write something inspired by the idea of secret love.  This came oddly to mind; not autobiographical in any way–thinking of survivor’s guilt.   Pic is mine; a clay sculpture from the Ruffino Tamayo Museum of Pre-Hispanic Art in Oaxaca, Mexico. 

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7 Comments on “Survivor”

  1. Kerry O'Connor Says:

    Your present the tale from an interesting POV – the restlessness of the one who loves in secret. The sense of yearning is profound.

  2. The way such love is weighed with guilt, somehow that statue with its hard cold weight is so apt, like being dead alive… Love the use of rhyme here.

  3. coalblack Says:

    I don’t know that I have ever seen this subject used in poetry, and it seems like it would be a rich, if very painful, topic. I don’t knwo what one would ever do about such feelings, or how to escape them, and you’ve captured all of that, here.

    • ManicDdaily Says:

      Thanks, Shay. It is a very rich prompt as one could go humorous or very serious and take it in different directions. I myself was surprised that this took the route it did. Not sure title is clear enough but don’t really know how is make it clearer exactly– but thanks so much for understanding what I was going for as that is very affirming. K.


  4. hedgewitch Says:

    Very intuitive and hidden feel (emotionally)to this, the springs within our minds we really never drink from unless we have to–your poem really echoes that lost expression on the stone fragment of a face, as if coming from a fragment of the psych–and illustrates how larger circumstances can shape us more than the chisel and hammer of will and wish.

  5. Rosemary Nissen-Wade Says:

    Very vivid images; an intriguing tale.

  6. Jim Says:

    Sounds like the Cha Cha Cha dance a small Russian dancer and dance instructor and I had on the QM2. She was so light and followed my every move as if she were reading my mind. I won’t ever forget her.

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