This Poem was Submitted By: Wayne R. Leach On Date: 2004-06-09 21:44:50 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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BEFORE WE….

I never was a matador, a whore; I never wore another shoe on another shore Nor could I be an apple tree, a bee – a hornet maybe, to sting you deeply As I was stung in my core, my heart before there ever was a we. Maybe I could bring back more than I took from your heaven as I stole out the door to row another boat to where another shoe fell – oh sure, now I tell you how much you meant, how much I loved you then, when we had no shoes, and we never were. No, I shall not pray for more beauty than I had in last night’s dream of you –  in last year’s dream of you –  last eternity’s dream –  of you.

Copyright © June 2004 Wayne R. Leach


This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2004-07-05 20:46:59
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.67742
Hi Wayne, Great rhyming in this piece..it has a pleasing cadence that compelled me to read it several times. I get the sense that you are speaking of someone you loved and lost... perhaps because you did not say "I love you" at the right time or not at all. So you walked away and went to another..the mystry is why? But you have her in dreams and in memory which is sometimes the only satisfaction we receive from some relationships. I sound like and armchair shrink! Even though the words scream of pathos I find this a lovely piece of writing and thank you for sharing it. Peace...Marilyn


This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2004-07-01 15:40:40
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 7.83333
Wayne, Loved the matador, the whore, and the shoe and the shore. I think there's a Picasso in your first stanza. Mark
This Poem was Critiqued By: Karen Ann Jacobs On Date: 2004-06-29 17:20:17
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.90000
Phew. That was an intense and heart wrenching poem. I love the phrases you created for this poem. The rhyme scheme, especially in the first stanza, was like getting hit with a one – two punch. I was left with a visual image of someone pounding out his or her frustration, calming for a moment, then pounding again. The first two lines of this poem stick with me the most. The last stanza just knocks me out. Once a chance is past, it’s gone. I used to think I’d never have any regrets, but that is not how it worked out. We just have to remember that we are made from our mistakes and our successes. Thank you for sharing this poem. Karen Ann Jacobs aka Kay-Ren
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