She sings alone her repertoire
Dancing in her front room
Pretending to play a Spanish guitar
Imagining her Flamenco costume
A rose held lightly between her lips
Dress flowing and swishing the floor
Feeling the touch of his hands on her hips
Her imaginary toreador
Ten years on she’s lost those dreams
One child and one on its way
To tired to chase these old moonbeams
A life in disarray
But sometimes she hears the Spanish guitar play
Childish daydreams rise to the fore
For a moment in time she is swept far away
In the arms of her toreador
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Author:
Tallisman (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 7th, 2022 11:56
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 29
Offline)
Comments7
Tallisman!!!! I love it! I wonder if bullfighters still exist?!
Thanks Shramrock, I wish it were so but I doubt it…
Very few countries. Spain, Portugal, France. Mainly outlawed though. Still; a great write!
Such a wonderful, reflective poem. So often it is the memories of treasured moments that can lift us up, if just for a moment.
Thanks Bella, we live in reality and escape from it in dreaming!
Love this poem Tallis. Who doesn't like a bit of hidden regret. Great stuff
I like this. It tells of embedded dreams which I think we all have and tells a tender tale of how life can alter the quest for those dreams. I also liked the split in time from dreamer to busy housewife. It simply follows most realities. Altered courses due to necessity. Again, a most enjoyable read. - Phil A.
Thankfully I was able to ignore the bullfighting associations and related to your depiction of the turns life can take - for that, kudos.
Very good write tallisman, maybe the toreador will be reality one day.
Andy
Another great one tallisman!!! nice play on words
Thanks Raven, when u get a moment can you look at my sea of dreams? Not much feedback! Wondering why!
Will do!!
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