The Icicle Song (Poetry)
16th June 2014
There’s an icicle trapped in the cupboard
from the breath that I borrowed from you
there’s a chip in the spout of my teapot
and a puddle is gathering blue
like the thin frozen pond
we once skated upon
in the winter of seventy-two
when our twin silver lines
drew small horoscope signs
of the age we were born to live through.
Time has melted your face from the mirror
your shadow’s long-gone from the stair
I listen for ghosts in the twilight
and imagine you entering there
coming home from the sea
to a welcome from me
with the candleglow soft on my hair
and you tell me those tales
of old sailors and whales
and we laugh like we don’t have a care.
I heard that you have a new lover
much younger and tastefully bred
her pedigree comes with a fortune
now most of her family’s dead
so it’s no big surprise
that you went for the prize
the obvious needs to be said
true love rarely comes
with a pageful of sums
and gold bullion stashed under the bed.
As the icicle drips in the cupboard
your name breathes itself in my ear
though I no longer grieve at your going
nostalgia leans wistfully near
and I still have the cup
that I didn’t wash up
where your lips left a faint sticky smear
you avoided my eyes
when you said your goodbyes
but left me this one souvenir.
Your picture has been in the papers
the camera’s your intimate friend
as you smile like the spotlight’s familiar
the lie is a means to an end
the new love of your life
has a stare like a knife
as she kills what she can’t comprehend
full possession is what
she imagines she’s got
and it suits you to let her pretend.
I wish I could wish you good fortune
but I’m not so forgiving or sweet
I’m cool on the surface but fearful
of how I might feel should we meet
for if time healed at all
I could give you a call
and we’d wander down memory street
while I don’t wish you ill
that sad icicle’s chill
has spread from my heart to my feet.
Now the irony seems kind of funny
you’re the rebel I thought was a friend
old vanity smirks like a demon
with talents to fool and offend
but there’s part of me knows
that the wind rarely blows
with no benefit to those who bend
like a tree in a gale
or a ship in full sail
we all go with the flow in the end.
from the breath that I borrowed from you
there’s a chip in the spout of my teapot
and a puddle is gathering blue
like the thin frozen pond
we once skated upon
in the winter of seventy-two
when our twin silver lines
drew small horoscope signs
of the age we were born to live through.
Time has melted your face from the mirror
your shadow’s long-gone from the stair
I listen for ghosts in the twilight
and imagine you entering there
coming home from the sea
to a welcome from me
with the candleglow soft on my hair
and you tell me those tales
of old sailors and whales
and we laugh like we don’t have a care.
I heard that you have a new lover
much younger and tastefully bred
her pedigree comes with a fortune
now most of her family’s dead
so it’s no big surprise
that you went for the prize
the obvious needs to be said
true love rarely comes
with a pageful of sums
and gold bullion stashed under the bed.
As the icicle drips in the cupboard
your name breathes itself in my ear
though I no longer grieve at your going
nostalgia leans wistfully near
and I still have the cup
that I didn’t wash up
where your lips left a faint sticky smear
you avoided my eyes
when you said your goodbyes
but left me this one souvenir.
Your picture has been in the papers
the camera’s your intimate friend
as you smile like the spotlight’s familiar
the lie is a means to an end
the new love of your life
has a stare like a knife
as she kills what she can’t comprehend
full possession is what
she imagines she’s got
and it suits you to let her pretend.
I wish I could wish you good fortune
but I’m not so forgiving or sweet
I’m cool on the surface but fearful
of how I might feel should we meet
for if time healed at all
I could give you a call
and we’d wander down memory street
while I don’t wish you ill
that sad icicle’s chill
has spread from my heart to my feet.
Now the irony seems kind of funny
you’re the rebel I thought was a friend
old vanity smirks like a demon
with talents to fool and offend
but there’s part of me knows
that the wind rarely blows
with no benefit to those who bend
like a tree in a gale
or a ship in full sail
we all go with the flow in the end.