Tuesday, May 13, 2008


He covered my eyes and asked me to guess

who he was. I felt his hands on my face-

they were soft… somehow my skin tingled

like I’d been slapped.

When I ran my fingers over the leanness,

I knew he was not my father.

The veins were tense, firm so I knew then.

He was my buddy.

I called his name, he came in front of me.

He pushed me down in the dirt, tickled

and pinched my brown skin. The rough play

made me wet with sweat; panting for more

I chased him as he ran away laughing.

He leaped over a big macca tree so I

jumped too and crashed in the top branches.

Rushing back he looked at my bloodiness,

my gored flesh, my ugliness.

His handkerchief wasn’t enough.

He knew it never would be.

He looked at me hard then walked away.

I lay wondering if he would get help.


Sucharita Sarkar said...

I really like the way you have used the sense of touch throughout the poem to show both attraction and repulsion.

Enjoyed the Thelma post, too.

Paul Bernard said...

Great poem. I enjoyed the sexual tension in the poem, the first exciting feelings of anothers touch. Well done.
By the way, I came across an old comment from you on my blog and I don't know if I answered it. You said you would like to put more poems on but were worried about copyright issues.
I looked into it and you should be alright, so long as you include a message like this:
"The copyright for all articles remains with the author. (All poems © 2008 [insert name or initials])"
Hope it helps, and that we can enjoy more of your wonderful poems. Sorry to take so long to reply!!

mooncake said...

when i red your poem, it remind me of myself and a "buddy".

I love this poem.

Thank you.

ps: thank you for cheering me up again. your words went deep into my heart.

sister in poetry

Sucharita Sarkar said...


thanks for visiting (after a long time) my blog and dropping your memories. Loved reading them.

waiting for your next post...