Sunday, April 5, 2015

You Come To Me ....

You come to me so softly
Just before the day
I cannot hear your footsteps
But I feel you just the same
The warmth of your presence
Like the sun’s first rays
The closeness of you
Takes my breath away
To know that you are near me
Takes the shadows away... 

Prose - Dianne Dawes ... ♥
Please enlarge
Pour C.B.


♥ Łucja-Maria ♥ said...

Dear Dianne,
thank you very much for the beautiful poem, published in this wonderful Easter time.
Kisses and greetings.
Lucia ♡ ♡ ♡

Anonymous said...

The 6-Transistor Radio

He stood in slight briefs on the beach. The sea in the distance. Far too small. The party was in full swing. He went up to her. She was tall. He was taller.

He felt self-conscious. She looked down and then back to him. He made a forced smile. It was not his idea to come.

“Do you... like... this music?” he asked her.

“You are big.” she said looking up at him, unflinchingly, into his eyes.

He shrugged his shoulders which made him look taller and more vulnerable.

“I like all kinds of music.” she continued.

“Oh. It was not my idea to...” he said.

“I didn't want to come either really.” she replied. “I thought that maybe...”

“Yeah. Same here.” he said. “It's weird. Nobody's being themselves. They're all acting a role in something, a play like. As if they're meant to be someone but they're not.”

“Do you like my hair?” she asked him.

“Of course. Of course, I like it. I like... you know, everything...” he replied.

“I like my hair, it's part of me.” she smiled to him.

He couldn't help feeling vulnerable at this moment. Vulnerable, exposed, visible and obvious and he wished he could shrink. Shrink a lot. He was far too big and she was far too small. But beyond physical bigness or smallness, although, that was important too.

He felt the sand below him. Sinking. Deeper. Deeper. A ball came past. In black and white. They stood, opposite each other. In color. The ball was picked up by someone and thrown back...

“Would you like a drink?” he asked her.

“Erm... OK.” she replied.

“No. I mean... There's some fruit-punch over there on that table.” he tried to explain.

He wanted to turn away for a long time and at last, that big chance. As he turned, she touched his back.

“I'd like a glass of what you have.” she said.

He focused on the bowl on the table and walked up to it. He hadn't drunk. But he was drunk. He was drunk with her... her being. Her existence. Her presence. Her femininity. He put the ladle into the bowl, lifted it and poured a half-glass of fruit-punch into one of the glasses. Another glass. He picked both up. Turned round, no one...

Miles of sand. People playing a ball game over a net. He walked back. There was some stalks of grass. Where was the sea? Two glasses in his hands and no sea.

He looked into the people. That was her, wasn't it? He approached with the two glasses in front of him. Somebody who looked like her. Same hair. He nodded as she looked over to him. She caught the ball, both hands and threw it over the net.

He sat down on the sand and saw a pocket radio. '6-Transistor Radio' the label said on the front. He put his two protective glasses down and picked the radio up with both hands. He turned the knob. A beautiful piece of guitar music.

“I heard this so recently.” he thought to himself. “This is pretty crazy.”

He was not so big, now.

Was she here? Was she there? Would she ever be? So many people. Lah-lah-lah. So many people. She would find it eventually. People always find things eventually. The things they want.

He turned the dial. Slow..., ly. No. Not that. Maybe... Yes. Back a bit. Forward a bit. Beautifully crisp and clear. The frequency dial was right at the other end. The opposite side of the world. 180 degrees. Opposite. But not 180 degrees as some people think of 180 degrees. More like how a mirror does 180 degrees. Kind of, opposite but identical, sort of thing.

The radio was playing a beautiful classical piece from the 18th century. Playing very gently. He turned the volume right down low until he could barely hear it.

Now to hide it. But not too much hidden.

Some long reeds.

No. It shouldn't be too far away from where he had found it. Just far enough. Splendor in the grass. Ha. If she existed, not just imagined, she would pick it up and know everything.

He bit his thumb. She would know. Everything. Suddenly. And forever.

MARTY said...

this is beautiful Dianne and so hopeful
Happy Easter to you
Love your last post too

dianne said...

Thank you dear Lucia for your kind words and wishes.
Warm greetings and kisses
xoxoxo ♡

dianne said...

Thank you dear one for your lovely, visual story, your ability to write with such imagination always amazes me.
I could feel the sand, feel the atmosphere of the beach, it has its own characteristics of sights, sounds and scents. I could also hear the people in the crowd, conversations, laughter, noise from the game of volley ball. Not that I am fond of noisy crowds, I would prefer to be sitting on the sand, near the tufts of sea grass, looking at the sky and sea, the sand running through my fingers, in a quieter place.
I cannot understand why the girl left, she should have stayed, since you were drunk with her being, her existence,her presence, her femininity. Such a beautiful compliment for any girl,I would have stayed if I had been thought of in such a lovely way . You were very attentive, though she may have picked up on your feelings of not wanting to be there because you felt vulnerable and exposed.
I do hope my poem did not embarrass you or make you feel uncomfortable, or make you feel you had been put in a place where you did not want to be. I too am shy and vulnerable but sometimes I speak from my heart and say too much.
Take care dearest one.
xoxoxo ♡

dianne said...

Thank you dear Marty for your lovely words and kind wishes.
xoxoxo ♡

Leovi - La Fotografía Efectista Abstracta said...

Yes, I like, delicious soft presence !!!

Giga said...

Fits perfectly hot line to the photo. Yours sincerely.


Amiga poeta,la melancolia sigue invadiendo tus sentimientos

Art said...

This was very beatuiful.

dianne said...

Thank you dear Leovi for your sweet words, yes, a warm and soft presence.
xoxoxo ♡

dianne said...

Thank you dear Giga !
Warm greetings
xoxoxo ♡

dianne said...

Thank you dear Juan , no, not melancholy, just a feeling of longing.
xoxoxo ♡

dianne said...

Thank you so much dear Art for your kind words.
xoxoxo ♡

Existe Sempre Um Lugar said...

Boa tarde, linda prosa que transmite a existência de um coração romântico.


Amiga poeta,Si amas a las flores y amas a la naturaleza,son formas de hacer poesias

dianne said...

Bom querido manhã AG , obrigado pelas suas amáveis palavras, sim, eu sou um romântico no coração.

xoxoxo ♡

dianne said...

Gracias, querido Juan , por sus amables palabras. Sí, la naturaleza y las flores proporcionan la inspiración para la poesía, sólo tengo que encontrar las palabras.

xoxoxo ♡