Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Monday, September 30, 2013

Shiny and New

 English Great Hall of the Late Tudor Period
(1550-1603)- photo by Margaret Bednar

I thought I might be your favorite
I knew that others
had come and gone before me
I was foolish, thought
I was special

You dressed me in silk
Gave me gold and rubies
Displayed me like one of your paintings
and I glowed in your light

As my sheen grew dull
I faded from your sight
 I begged for your attention
You were already elsewhere

You say that you loved me well
But everyone knows
that well- loved is just another way to say
and you, my love, like your toys 


Anonymous said...

Agh. We've seen that plenty and know (or, if lucky, can imagine) the feelings so well caught here. Armor not enough! Thanks, Lola. k.

Susan said...

A wonderful placer to go with this prompt--the armor, the dog, the framed and hung, the room itself--all used in this sense. And the first person address made this very personal as I read and now stand accused (and not unfairly).

BB said...

It's perfect for the photo. And a perfect description of so many men I've met in my lifetime! Bravo!

Susie Clevenger said...

Wow...love the ending...seems we never have enough armor when someone seeks to replace us with shiny and new.

Pat Tillett said...

Perfect! There are many of my gender, that I am not proud of...

Kay L. Davies said...

Oooh, well put, Ms Mouse.

Preeti S. said...

That happens when the attention/affection-span has run its course. There wll always be something new and shiny to replace the old and worn out. Interesting, isn't it, that being shiny or otherwise seems to depend utterly on a perspective which is not our own.

Nice poem. :)

Crayotic Ramblings said...

Ouch. I relate to this more than I would care to admit.

Anonymous said...

Ouch the metaphor, fantastically done!

Marcoantonio Arellano (Nene) said...

Yes! well put, well written, mi amiga

Margaret said...

!! I know I commented - most likely on my iPhone and sometimes it doesn't always post. Well, this poem is true that "some things never change". The sadness here overwhelms me.