top of page

January poem

  • c.allison Devesly
  • Jan 21, 2022
  • 1 min read


She sat in her window,

Grey hair piled high,

Sipping tea from her favored

Flowered, chipped cup–


Watching as the high fashioned women

Clicked down the avenues–their stilettos

Resonating off the concrete.


Their long legs stretching, nylons

Taut with every stride, caring to

Reach over each sidewalk crack.


Their bags and parcels, loading

Down their arms–balance upended–

Ruining the rhythm of each footfall.


Heads held high, staring straight

Ahead, eyes made up with shades

Of blue and greens, lashes long

Reaching.



Red and pink lips, pouted

Pursed, tight against the

Unwanted comments–taunts

Expelled at them, by voices unknown.


Spews of lust, peppered

At them, filling the air with

The scents of desired

Sex, unrequited.










Elle s'est assise à sa fenêtre,

Cheveux gris empilés,

Siroter du thé de son préféré

Coupe fleurie ébréchée–


Regarder comme les femmes à la mode

Cliqué sur les avenues - leurs talons aiguilles

En résonance avec le béton.


Leurs longues jambes qui s'étirent, nylons

Tendu à chaque foulée, soucieux de

Atteignez chaque fissure du trottoir.


Leurs sacs et colis, chargement

Dans leurs bras - équilibre renversé -

Ruiner le rythme de chaque pas.


Têtes hautes, regardant droit

Devant, les yeux maquillés de nuances

De bleu et de vert, longs cils

Atteindre.



Lèvres rouges et roses, boudeuse

Serré, serré contre le

Commentaires indésirables - railleries

Expulsé vers eux, par des voix inconnues.


Vomit de luxure, poivré

À eux, remplissant l'air avec

Les senteurs désirées

Sexe, non partagé.

More about this source textSource text required for additional translation information

Send feedback

Side panels


 
 
 

Recent Posts

See All
March Poem

The words don't come easily, They stick, catch, click In my throat– As if my trachea has closed. Allowing no air to escape– A suffocation...

 
 
 
January/February Poem

Each line–etched on her face, Carefully drawn As if by an artist’s charcoal– Each strand of hair greyed, Woven through— A herringbone...

 
 
 
November Poem

The ice blue sky Rolled to grey– The white clouds darkening, Filling, threatening below. Animals scampering, hiding, Looking for shelter,...

 
 
 

コメント


  • Twitter
  • LinkedIn

©2020 by c.allison devesly. Proudly created with Wix.com

bottom of page