I used to belong to a writing group that met once a week at Chipping Norton Theatre. The group contained some unbelievably talented writers. Ann Wooby, for instance. Every week she would bring a poem, always the highlight of the week. While tidying my desk, I found this one, and she has given her permission to reproduce it. It’s inspired by the Perry Como song Catch A Falling Star.
Poor coat.
Poor sad coat..
Grown tired and drab and old..
You used to shine,
Sleek in every line..
You danced down the street,
Slim and sweet
And calm against the cold..
Unburdened..
Nothing concealed..
But now your pockets are congealed
With sweetmeats,
Tattered and snagged with heaviness,
Groaning with life’s gratuities..
Pockets packed full
Of coins and cards,
Burgeoned with seeds,Old songs, old thoughts, old lovers’ words..
Pockets
Packed so full
You broke at the seams..
But then,
You never could
Accommodate my dreams..
They fell through your broken seams
And slipped and slid away.
Tell you something though..
That falling star I pocketed…
I hold a fragment here,
Catching the sun’s last rays..
Sometimes it glints and gleams..
But not so much these days.