The stranger

This happened long ago when I, still young,
did not believe in angels (nor in hell),
nothing was biblical that I could tell
but life would change, and I should bite my tongue.

The stranger in our local place to be
wore white and made the dusty sunlight twirl,
his eyes were looking for just any girl
and out of all the ones, this man chose me.

We smiled of course and then he took my hand.
We danced a bit and drank a beer or two.
He didn’t talk much, strangers never do.
We walked all night over the moonlit strand.

He showed me what I should have seen before,
the stars in patterns they had never been,
he offered me his shoulder then to lean,
the sea began to sing, could I need more?

He took the ferry, to leave at seven.
I never saw him back, don’t know his name
nor what his business was, for what he came.
I only know that he was sent from heaven.

😉
just a bit of fun

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Comments on: "The stranger" (19)

  1. Loved it 🙂

  2. Widow Beach said:

    Interesting fantasy!

  3. It would be nice to have that happen more often in our lives.

  4. Sharing something from 2011 with you: ‘There are other angels’

    There are other angels. I met one once,
    or rather I saw her at her work;
    she was sitting quietly, her eyes
    on the daffodils, her thumbs rotating
    around each other, and she was humming.
    It was a gentle day, a warm one
    – warm for the time of year, said the people
    as they passed, said the old man tipping his hat,
    said the woman with the dog –
    but her jacket was buttoned all the way up.
    I knew that was so we couldn’t see her wings.
    Yes, it was a warm day, and I had
    a hundred thoughts, high-speeding and heavy,
    hasty, wind-driven clouds and sharp shock-rain,
    words made from the drumming of my heels,
    words made from the sucking in of my breath,
    words trying out their waltz-steps
    in my empty head. But she made me stop
    and look at the flowers, captive for a week or so,
    dancing, frantic in the park, loud, in-my-face,
    in one gate and out the other, yellow,
    bright yellow against the grey path,
    making silent music while the cars rolled
    and rocked by, rocking in the breeze,
    yellow-gaudy and battledress-gold,
    in-and-out like spring, sudden as hail.
    She was watching them as though
    they were the miracle; but I watched her,
    or I watched the flowers, then her,
    then the flowers, then her again;
    only an angel could make me do that.

  5. A lovely it of fun! L&H Xx

  6. Oh, yes, Ina, such special moments that make us believe angels are among us. And this is a special poem that reached right into my heart and soul. XO ♥

  7. This poem sings in the best tradition of poetry, Ina. It has the feeling of a traditional ballad, which often brings up the subject of ghosts and/or angels. The Ballad of Father Gilligan by William Butler Yeats, many of the early poems of Robert Graves, and, of course, the ancient ballads themselves are examples. Belief in the second line should be believe, but this poem does well by that ancient tradition.

    • Thank you very much Thomas. I shall look those names up. I have fixed the error, thank you!

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