Mont Orgueill

We walked around Mont Orgueill
and how the wind blew
I was blue with cold
and you rolled
as the wind buffeted

around turrets
and things.

We stood in the gallery
looked at pictures
and wax figures

hard to think
those were the days
and these
were ours.

There are snapshots,
curios
in a shop of horrors,
weird things
like a pack of tarot

I called up the hangman
you the sun.

The wind still blows
at Mont Orgueill
I held a wedding there
last weekend
as the gales
blew in from the sea

It was grey glass
and the spume
dampened hair

The merry couple laughed
and the wax figures
waned

I think moth
had got in their costumes
or perhaps the weather
made them despondent?

I nearly recommended
a cedar wood chest
no holes in their vests;

but my heart was buffeted
by a lingering memory
of a kiss on the turret

So long ago
in another lifetime



Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 488 times
Written on 2013-06-16 at 13:15

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countryfog
Your usual gift for place and details and making it real for us. I googled Mont Orgueill - eight hundred years of history . . . we Americans have so little history and are so much bereft for generally having so little appreciation for the unfolding of places and events in what little we do have. In my life I've traveled to many places but you keep taking me to ones I never knew existed.
2013-06-16


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Elle you have such a subtle and deft touch. I feel the pleasant, soft melancholy of this lovely poem
2013-06-16



Oh such lovely memories ...you make me want it badly this mont orgeuill:)
2013-06-16