Engulfed and inflamed,
exciting and new.

Closer in proximity,
intimately I could see,
as you drew near to me.

A picnic in the grass,
feelings beyond & surpassed.

Longed and felt you near me,
now I feel a fear in me.

Overwhelmed by this fear,
not knowing when it appeared.

Feeling it creep upon my heart,
heavily laden to this day’s start.

Innocently you kissed me,
and held me so dear to you.

Now why is it today I feel to fear you?
Scared by love or someone knowing me at this proximity?

Always alone I was,
now how do I live with trust?

I will pray to let it go and give this time,
not to rewind or question my own mind.

Fears consume me now,
but I pray for them to leave me this day.

As fast as they arrived,
let them subside,
go away.

Let them pass away in the windy hollows of the trees,
which so gracefully we laid below and stared upon,
in this distant backdrop of unspoken thoughts.

Let the fears flee from us,
let me know in you I can trust.

My longing to know you and care for you
outweighs the overwhelming fears.
So stay with me my dear,
don’t let me push you away from me.

If in time we can see this through,
our lives will start anew.

Written September 16, 2010

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Fears of Proximity.

And soon after his next birthday, her old mansion would be sold,

Since she died, and he would miss them both, as nine years changed the date.

He completed school, did two years work, and started college late.

(2)At the end of his first Uni year, he used semester break,

To get on his pushbike, ride ten miles, and use the street to take

Some new photographs of that old house, that stood in Memory Lane.

Then a lady pulled up in the drive, and Tom had to explain.

(3)So he told her how he’d visited his great aunt, and she’d died.

She invited him to take more pictures of the house inside.

They exchanged their names, and hers was Angel. She had long blond hair,

And she wore a dark blue dress, which caught his eyes and made him stare.

(4)Angel showed him in, and chatted, as the camera’s shutters moved

More than those beside the windows, and he noticed she approved

Of his dedicated efforts to preserve the life he’d known.

He used up his roll of film, while she was talking on the phone.

(5)He soon asked her if he could come back, when he had bought some more.

She took out an unused roll of film she’d kept in her desk drawer.

“You can have this as a gift, if you could stay for lunch as well,”

Angel told him, and he found himself enchanted by her spell.

(6)With her wedding ring to think of, he stayed focused on the shots

That he took of her interiors, while Angel warmed some pots.

She prepared a tasty pasta, which they ate, while she detailed

How she’d married, bought the house, and then her husband’s health had failed.

(7)For two years she’d been a widow, and the house was now a shrine,

And the memories of their lost loved ones would start to intertwine,

As a thirty year old widow, and a boy were growing fond

Of each other, with that mansion as a setting for a bond.

(8)He told stories of old visits there, and picnics on the lawn.

Then the sunlight shone upon her face, as Angel had to yawn.

She proposed that they might have the next day’s lunch out on the grass,

And he thought of Angel married, when those years had had to pass.

(9)Now they shared the common ground, specifically that block of land,

And the ghosts they knew that no-one else could ever understand.

He accepted her proposal, and soon bought a “Thank you” card,

And some chocolates, which he handed her, as they walked through her yard.

(10)They enjoyed the picnic lunch, and she invited him to stay,

For a chat up on the balcony, and let him lead the way.

She was thrilled by how he knew his way around each nook and cranny,

And he told her how he’d used the cellar once, to hide from Nanny.

(11)They walked out onto the balcony, and Tom said, “When I came,

I was glad to see the garden and the house looked just the same.

It feels just like fifteen years ago, on days when my great aunt

And I both looked out at every creeper vine and growing plant.”

(12)”Tom, you’re sweet to buy me chocolates,” Angel candidly responded,

“And it’s nice the way we’ve shared the stories of this house and bonded.

For the first time, I’ve met someone who has helped me break the seal,

Of the lonely widow syndrome, but I don’t know how you feel.”

(13)”I feel nice,” said Tom, “It’s special to be spending two days here.”

Angel thanked him and then asked, “But have I got the wrong idea?
What I mean, is: Do you like me, or do you just like this place?”

He had never had a girlfriend. Now this doll was giving chase.

(14)”Yes, I really like you, Angel. I’m just scared to mix my past

With a future that could hurt me, if your feelings might not last.”

Her mouth opened in surprise, and she said, “You’re the younger man.

But you’ve thought this out so deeply, since your visits here began.

(15)I have turned away proposals from each Dick, and every Harry,

But not every Tom, because you’re one, whom I would love to carry

Me across the threshold in the future, once we two have dated

For the next two years, until such time as you have graduated.”

(16)Tom said, “When I first met you, I was unnerved about one thing,

As I came to take the pictures, and I saw your wedding ring.

I still thought it would be wrong to interrupt your right to grieve.

With my photographs all taken, I decided I should leave.”

(17)”You don’t have to leave,” said Angel, “With your help, my grief has gone.

If you’d like to see some more of me, I’m ready to move on.”

“I sure would,” said Tom, “if I don’t disappoint you. Being new

To this dating thing, I guess you’ll have to teach me what to do.”

(18)Summer sun lit up the garden, but the balcony was shady,

As she smiled and moved towards him. “Have you ever kissed a lady?”

Angel asked. He said, “I’ve never had a girlfriend, so to speak. ”

Then she smiled, and put one hand behind his neck, and kissed his cheek.

(19)Then she placed her other arm around his back, and took the lead,

As she taught him every kissing move, until they both agreed,

That the time had come to move inside and use the couch instead.

They were both too clean in mind, to jump the gun, and use the bed.

(20)They sat on the couch, and felt the cushions underneath them dip,

And he ran each finger slowly over her soft lower lip.

They embraced, and felt their touching cheeks was unity assured,

As Tom realized this vacation would leave no time to be bored.

(21)She’d inherited a chain of fashion stores, that dealt in flowers

As a sideline to enhance the atmosphere in business hours.

As the owner, she could take time off, to coincide with his,

Angel told him, as she poured some lemonade that kept its fizz.

(22)With the daylight saving sunlight still to last for quite a while,

Angel’s bicycle and his went wheeling round, until a mile

Of her suburb had been covered, and he hazarded a guess

That her own department store supplied her flowery white long dress.

(23)”I designed this one myself,” she said, “with flowers in pale red.

They’re the same as those that grow around the mansion’s old back shed.

Then the “tailor made” department had it made in several days.

Will you let me read your college work: those stories, and the plays?”

(24)She was lost in everything he wrote; and used her drawing skill

To make illustrations for the novels he worked on, until

One book publisher, who’d previously turned his books away,

Had a change of heart, and knew that now the customers would pay.

(25)When his college course was finished, and he didn’t have to cram,

Putting dates with her on hold, the night before his last exam,

He rode out of university, a bachelor of study

Up to Angel’s suburb, skidding on some road that rain made muddy.

(26)He fell off the bike, and hit his head, and passed out on the road,

Where his girlfriend lived, while clouds above went into downpour mode.

Then eventually her car pulled up, when she came driving by,

And she thought that he was dead, and stroked his head, and had to cry.

(27)”Tom, I loved you more than even my old husband. It’s not fair,”

Angel wept, as he woke up, and felt her fingers on his hair.

“It’s alright. I skidded off the road, fell down, and then I must

Have collapsed, once I had hit my head, and ended up concussed.

(28)Roadside grass has saved me from a bruise. I’m glad you came and found

Me down here, and kept me safe, since there was no-one else around.”

She secured the car, and left it, and they walked the pushbike in,

And she bandaged his right hand with rolls of something soft and thin.

(29)Angel gently held his hands and said, “I thought I’d lost another,

And before we could get married.” Then she used her lips to smother

Him with countless lovely kisses. Tom said, “Does this really mean,

That you’re seriously willing to get married? I’m still keen.

(30)And in fact, that’s why I cycled up. I hope this isn’t rash.

Could you help me open this? My hands are clumsy from the crash.”

He took out a small container, and she lifted up the lid,

And she saw a wedding ring, and said, “Of course I’m still keen, kid.

(31)Now I guess it’s time to take this old ring off, and start anew.”

“You don’t need to take it off,” said Tom, “I’m sure there’s room for two,

Your first ring is on your right hand, as a memory and a token,

And this new one tells the world the sleeping widow has awoken.”

(32)”I can’t believe how sweet you are,” said Angel, “I’ll do what you’ve said,

Now I think you should lie down, since you just hurt your handsome head.

I’ll still stay and keep you company, and make some wedding plans.”

They discussed things, and her sports car soon drove westward, dragging cans.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at THE MANSION IN MEMORY LANE.

That still lives today on Christmas cards all packed up now? Is that so?

Would the lamps that light the pathways put a glow upon her face?

Are these images of fantasies all gone without a trace?

Is she staring from the window of a house, with fascination,

And now totally enthralled by crystal clear precipitation,

Lightly falling down, to make the grass a darker shade of green,

And still willing for the happiness she sought at sweet sixteen?

Is she smiling in the sunshine of the inner city skylines;-

Looking pretty as a photograph unsuited to the bylines

All contained inside newspapers circulating with great speed?

Is she reaching for the clouds, and hoping that she’ll soon be freed?

Could she be a long lost princess, well-concealed within the fog?

Is she now beyond her thirties, and yet free to kiss the frog,

Thus transforming him into the prince he’d never ceased to be;

And especially if that prince of hers is someone just like me?

Is she free of all commitments made before the time was right,

And now open to her destiny in silent streets one night,

To become that part of me, which I have yet to find for sure,

That soft part that fills the void, so there can be no need for more?

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at LADY FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE.

Little feet hastened on the grass,

To the call of a mother,

She was her mother since those days,

Days of gory crimes the two were unaware,

But there was one man, who knew it all,

He dreamt of white flashes and red rivers,

Suffered a saga of bloodshed,  

Drugged himself to forget her,

Forgot her address to protect her.

On a rainy night he’d found her,

While her friend lay dead on her bed,

Brutally butchered for love,

An honor killing by the wealthy family.

He had loved her at first sight,

He had lost her at first sight,

He had sent her away to some distant land,

And now he lay dead in that poor street.

Could he see those little feet,

Hastening to the woman he’d loved?

She held her against her breasts,

Hid her tears for the man she’d lost.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at The Clairvoyant.

Have you ever considered?

How fortunate you are

To gaze at the sky

And see a star,

And say to yourself

I wonder how many there are?

To walk through a garden

And smell the rose.

Skip through dewy grass

In your bare feet and toes

Before the sun arose?

 Take long walks on

A crisp fall day.

Build a snowman

On a cold wintry night

Giving him eyes of coal

And a nose carrot bright.

Swim in a creek

On a warm summers noon.

Ride a roller coaster

At a county fair,

Or spin in a Ferris wheel

And view the world from the air.

 Ride in a convertible,

With wind ruffling your hair.

Build a sandcastle

In a secluded cay

Only to have a wave

 Wash it away.

Go deep-sea fishing

On a party boat

Only to return home

With an empty tote.

Explore the bright moon

Lighting the sky at night

Wondering what it would be like

To go they’re in flight.

Watch an Eagle soar high in the sky

Floating on air currents

And wondering how and why,

Then suddenly

Swoop down

And snatch its prey

It saw from so far away.

Tom Fenning

2004

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Fortunate.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at My Dream.

The wind was blowing the prairie grass-
Both of us boys were poor-
And PA said “JONNIE WILL NEVER COME BACK
TO THE “Old Farm” ANY MORE!”
He took with him my Violin-
He took with him my dreams-
And all the stories, all the joys,
We had in Happy Days!

I plow as then, the Old Home Fields-
The meadow sings its song!
And all the winds of summer weave
A down the rows of corn;
The wild winds of the Prairie,
However far they roam-
CAN NEVER LIFT THE CART DUST
OF THE “WANDERER”…COMING HOME!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at When J.O. superintendant left home at seventeen..

Untill one day the Hunters came-
He held his head up high!
He saw again the daylight dim-
HE SAW THE MORNING SKY!

This BIG-BUCK knew me many a time-
He watched me on the “HILL”
Where I wrote all these songes of mine-
And the wind is never still.

But SOMETHING: like a SHADOW past-
A whisper, on the grass,
A LIGHTNING ON THE MORNING WIND!
A BULLET TRAVELS FAST!

I don’t know what GUN they used-
He might have heard the ROAR:
HE TOOK HIS LAST LOOK AT THE SKY!
THEN…jumped the fence no more!

NOW HE IS GONE: THIS BRAVE OLD BUCK;
To some Far Land of Song?
AND WILL THE LITTLE DOE DEERS LOOK
FOR HIM WHEN HE IS GONE?

And WHO the HUNTER brought him low?
And…keeps his ANTLERED HEAD?
Oh..HE’S A FELLER WE ALL KNOW,
AND GOES… BY THE NAME… OF FRED.

You may think this poem strange-
Or that it is not so-
BUT I CAN SHOW WHERE HE SHOT THE BUCK:
So many years ago.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at SILVER TAIL:.

The winds still sway that Sweetheart Tree,
Where summer days still shine-
And there is HER NAME on the SILVER TREE,
And written so close to mine!

Till fifty summers drifted by,
And fifty drifts of snow-
WHERE MELTED IN THE SPRINGTIME RAIN-
Into the LONG AGO.

And then one day a footstep came,
Across the Autumn Grass-
An Angel threw the sunshine down,
Again, for lad and lass!

I saw the same old branches wave-
It was waiting there for me-
BUT SHE WAS GONE, THOUGH HER NAME WAS THERE-
UPON THE SWEETHEART TREE.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at The Other Sweetheart Tree.

The hurrieing feet of other days,
Have wandered on a thousand ways-
And down the little path toward home,
They can return… no more!

WE KNOW the years MUST drift away-
Till all of them are gone;
Leave only PICTURES of the past-
In singing lines of song!

The Days go by in summertime-
With no one left to know-
How bright once was the MORNING SKY-
In days of Long Ago!

The twilight lingers in the west-
The shadows, down the lane,
And STILL THE WEST WIND calls for days
That never come again!

I tried SO HARD to strike the notes-
That sing in this little song-
While all my fancies wander back
Where GOLDEN DAYS belong!

I wonder if YOU think of them?
Or how the “Old Time” seems?
If you ever walk the little path
Toward HOME… in some lost dream?

It sleeps beneath the grass and leaves-
Wherever the wild winds roam-
The hidden path of OTHER DAYS-
Across the hills toward home!

The hurrieing feet of other days-
Have traveled the wide world o’er-
And down the little path to HOME,
They can return… NO MORE!

The birds still sing, and grass grow tall,
And flowers along the way-
And thru the mist of summer rain-
The light and shadows play!

But who will care when I am gone?
And it won’t be very long-
Then you can slowly read the lines
Of SUMMER in my song!
A poet told us long ago, WHEN NODDING BY THE FIRE-
TAKE down his book and SLOWLY READ-
And think of the soft look
Your eyes once had; and of their shadows deep!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at The Path to Home..