First love.

First love.

A Poem by Beccy

I saw you in the high street today.
A fleeting glimpse, little more than
a reflection in a shop window;
a momentary flicker frame
of recognition, followed
by the faintest of hesitations,
that caused my heart to almost cease.
Then, you were gone without trace,
like dropped ash from a cigarette end.

Later, in a different reflection,
I saw us in photographs.
They were sepia, grained with age;
And you were so handsome,
me, so elegant in a 1920's
gold and blue Cocktail Dress,
and as casual chatter drifted,
we danced, lighter than air.
But it was hardly a memory,
let alone a reality.

So instead, I imagined the ocean.
Fathomless; me sinking into its depths,
meeting all manner of strange
creatures on my journey;
giving no thought to
how I was still breathing,
the coolness on my skin,
the darkness descending.
But it was only the turning
of pages in my book;
a reverie, not a reality.

Then, as I sought sleep, I saw you again,
the bloom of youth still on your cheeks;
and you were Cezanne's
'The Boy in the Red Vest.'
Frozen by time, posed as you
were in those photographs,
my words unable to reach you,
let alone lead you back to my arms,
and my eyes became like pieces of glass,
all brittle with the rainfall of love.

Maybe one day, before I become thin veined,
I will pen you an anonymous billet-doux.
Hope you might recognise my hand from the
notes I made in your school exercise book.
Those silly little pencilled in hearts
that led to our first ever kiss;
hesitant, but like the first opening
of a newborn child's eyes,
never to be forgotten.

Then again, perhaps I should leave things lie.
A capture on canvas of a boy at his desk,
a young girl, scribbling when opportunity came.
Allow that our worlds have moved on,
that memories have just as rich fruits
to cull as realities; and that divination,
that most ancient and precarious
of arts, is, in the end,
best left to the imagination.

© 2020 Beccy

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So this is what a woman's not-so-secret secret reverie is like.
To be sure, a gifted woman who writes brilliant poetry.
From what I can gather, first loves are almost always more about being in love with love than
the supposed object of our affections; an object we, thoroughly
and conveniently, idealize.

Posted 7 Months Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


the power of the conduction of your heart to these lines is superb in its imagery and in its feelings conveyed:) I could write a thousand poems and not even come close to this intimacy of thought conveyance this is instantly one of my favorite poems I have read here! well... actually, anywhere

Posted 4 Days Ago

So beautiful and so touching to share those cherished revelations about the first love for someone dear, near to the heart but far from now. I felt the rawness and sincerity in those lines of poetic excellence.

Posted 4 Days Ago

" saw us in photographs.
They were sepia, grained with age;
And you were so handsome,
me, so elegant in a 1920's
gold and blue Cocktail Dress"

Posted 4 Days Ago

"the bloom of youth still on your cheeks;
and you were Cezanne's
'The Boy in the Red Vest.'
Frozen by time, posed as you"

Posted 4 Days Ago

in the fifth stanza here you showed us just how remarkable a poet you are. Because here is when the nonconformity of observation turns into this wonderful pallet of post-born empathy; and thus is palinode to every love song ever heard. It is of considerable sensibility and perceptible reason to conclude that wisdom is exceedingly sensational.....Your amazing..........just amazing.....dana

Posted 4 Months Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This is just so wonderful, I enjoyed this brilliant write

Posted 5 Months Ago

It's definitely about how that person makes you feel that you remember them for. Those hints of divination, feelings which are better less explained and how pure and pristine it all seems, when you see your crush. How our minds enable us to imagine a life with someone whom we like and how we try to develop narratives and stories about this person and ourselves, even if, in the end, the person can never be ours, would it even matter? Is it important after all, to merge all these various realities we live in, into a single reality? Maybe, some realities are just be meant to be lived in an imagination, before we risk disillusion and turning things mundane by trying to impose our pitch-perfect conception into reality.

It's not just a reverie, but a story of ours. Thanks for sharing

Posted 5 Months Ago

This is so equisite ..A dive in to the memories that forces to introspect .Memories are weird , a strange mix of smile on the face , tears in th eyes and longing at heart ..But so is time ..It reminds me of something longe gone but not forgotten ..I think you should pour your heart out on paper aand write that letter ...because life is too short for regrets ..but long enough to loose ourselve and then be found again and even if it is not , it will be a life million times better than one lived in fear ..I loved the way you have expressed yourselfand i am looking forward to reading more by you .
Love , Ankita

Posted 5 Months Ago

This is gorgeous Beccy and I find myself wondering if you should pen that letter or leave it be. I have a romantic heart so I say write it.

Posted 6 Months Ago

And you got all that from a reflection in a shop window? I think I've been using amazon too long 😀
I like how your reflections moves from past into present and future possibilities of memories to reflect back on to one day. Great last line leaves imagination ticking and dare I say, leaves us reflecting our own reflections too 😀

Posted 6 Months Ago

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35 Reviews
Shelved in 1 Library
Added on June 24, 2020
Last Updated on July 6, 2020



Northampton, Northamptonshire, United Kingdom

I'm forty three, single and have a lovely thirteen year old son called Charlie. I've been writing poetry and short stories since I can remember. I have always been an assiduous reader of poetry and re.. more..

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