tagNon-Erotic PoetryGhost of a Chance

Ghost of a Chance

byAngeline©

Sometimes you're dormant.
There are seasons
when you don't speak to me.

Once I imagined you
in the back seat of my car,
sitting still, holding up
your jangled spirit
with a narrow tie and lapels
and your hat set slightly askew,
shadowing your crumpled mouth.
You were silent, but your eyes
said you were lost somewhere good,
somewhere I want to be.

You're just a crazy drunken old jazzer,
dead 50-odd years, old enough
to be my long-gone grandpa,
and still you fly to my dreams
more alive than the bluesjay
in this morning's pine.

I want to love you.

I want a wayback machine
to 1943 so I can rescue you
before detention barracks
beat you to an early grave.

But you're gone,
and all I have is that tone,
the sweet ironic swing
that soars straight up
past cloudy blues to heaven,
and the ballads that dip
and weave beautiful hurt
until I cry for somewhere good
I once imagined leaving
your imaginary eyes.

Report Story

byAngeline© 11 comments/ 3470 views/ 0 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

1 Pages:1

Please Rate This Submission:

Please Rate This Submission:

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
Please wait
Recent
Comments
by Anonymous

If the above comment contains any ads, links, or breaks Literotica rules, please report it.

There are no recent comments (11 older comments) - Click here to add a comment to this poem or Show more comments or Read All User Comments (11)

Add a
Comment

Post a public comment on this submission.

Post comment as (click to select):

Preview comment

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar:

   Cancel