There’s a lady on the boulevard
’neath a purple parasol,
promenading in a hurried state of grace.
In beholden to the evening’s charms
as she wears the arts of spring,
where one’s bounden obligations states her pace.
There is an otherness about her,
notwithstanding her neglect
when in greeting those, she passes on her way.
Her, ‘Good evenings’, posed in blatant haste,
making rumours in her wake,
intermingling with the gossips of the day.
A whoosh of wind from a passing coach
rushed upon her unawares;
billowing up her petticoats to the knees.
Though perturbed, she found herself again
as she caught the coachman’s eye
with displeasure and a frowning, ‘If you please!’
Such intrusions vex though hinder not
when a heart is resolute,
more than ever when one’s calling is at hand.
When forbearance pays its compliments,
thus, rewarded with a wish,
a desire to see her sailor on dry land.
There’s a fresh and present pleasantness
as she walks down to the sea
where the schooners are with rumours on the wave.
Should she shout to hail her voyager,
to abandon one’s demure
but is swayed by noble breeding to behave.
To breathe the air of an ocean’s breeze
in a swell of gratitude;
in joyfulness, for the tides are flowing home.
As are her pockets filled with letters
and all bound in ribbons red
as she lightly makes her way down cobblestone.
To the harbour’s din and disarray,
mid the mayhem and the cheers;
her excitement flees the caution of her charge.
She, to rearing up her petticoats,
at the gallop through demure,
for no more who she has waited for at large.
The canvas furled, to the bollards bound
and the creaking timbers quiet,
where a handsome man stands waiting on the pier.
Through the sleepy light at evening’s end,
to behold with loving eyes,
her companion of the heart, her darling dear.
To my breast, my wandering sailor,
how I’ve waited for this day,
how I’ve longed to do those things we use to do.
How I’ve suffered through the loneliness,
how I’ve cried my nights to sleep;
how I’ve lived my every moment missing you.
There’s a lady on the boulevard
’neath a purple parasol,
promenading with her sailor by her side.
In beholden to the evening’s charms
as they wear the arts of spring
whilst in greeting those in passing in their stride.
-
Author:
Tony Grannell (
Offline) - Published: July 27th, 2025 06:16
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, sorenbarrett, Cheeky Missy, Friendship
Offline)
Comments6
You've got the Irishman's poetic soul - that's certain!
Hello, Lorna,
What a lovely thing to say - I'm a tad giddy, the truth be known. Thank you ever so much.
Wishing you all the very best,
Tony.
What a graceful and richly imagined poem, Tony, as always. The narrative carries a gentle elegance, and the final reunion lands, my friend.. That purple parasol is a great title and poem.. Truly, an excellent job. 🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛ Hope your day rocks!
Hello, Tristan,
Your words give me the impression, that the mad calligrapher is bit of a romantic, how lovely is that, as is your response and it is very much appreciated.
Fond regards,
Tony.
There is, indeed, a bit of a romantic in here...though, reading my work, it might be like finding a needle in a haystack. 🤣 But I am, indeed, a romantic in my heart. Thank you for seeing that Tony. You are quite a perceptive soul, my friend. And I am truly grateful to be sharing in this poetic journey with you.
Toney once again I have to say you have nailed it. Such classic meter and rhyme painted with quaint images set the scene for this poem of another era. It smiles with grace and dignity in a modern era that has neither. It sings like a lullaby to lull one into a sleep and dream of another time. Simply lovely and masterfully done.
Hello, Soren,
What a lovely review, words like, dignity, lullaby and dream and it's all there, I hope. As always so kind of you, you have the heart and soul of a poet.
Fond regards,
Tony.
Always my pleasure and it is I that thank you for your poems that give such joy
Love it
Hello, Tony,
I am delighted you loved it. Thank you ever so much.
All the best,
Tony.
You're welcome
Just a natural wonderful story teller, lovely write, enjoyed
Hello Tobani,
I have always loved stories and story tellers, in Ireland, we call them seanchi - not many of them now, I'm sad to say. Thank you very much for reading and responding.
Fond regards,
Tony.
You are very welcome
Nicely written, your poem explores themes of longing, love, and the joy of reunion. It captures the anticipation and excitement of a lady who has been waiting for her sailor to return from the sea, highlighting both the pain of separation and the beauty of their eventual reunion.
Hello, Friendship,
I always love reading your reviews, not alone on my own poems but other poets on this site. You are not just an excellent poet but a true lover of poetry. I admire you greatly.
Fond regards,
Tony.
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