Monday, May 27, 2013

The Wedding

Another poem I'm afraid.

I scribbled down the bones of this on my smartphone whilst under the influence at my friend's wedding reception back in January.  I've tried it a couple of times since and come up with nothing so it's not a recommended method.
It's been sitting and waiting to be finished for a couple of months but having finally sat down I've only made very small adjustments and solved the troublesome verse by removing it. 
It was a lovely occasion anyway and I hope that comes across.
The Wedding
The rain leaves diamonds on the windows
and past-your-bedtime children dart like swallows
beneath roof beams and across the polished floor.
There are wine glassed haloes on the tablecloths
As squeezed-into jackets ago are eased off
And trouser tops are discretely unbuttoned
Remembrances are chewed fondly over,
tall stories and big plans and our might-be and maybes
as new memories are laid down like whisky.
All our days are woven together for this one day
to be folded and packed as neatly as Sunday best
and to brought out and held up to the light in days to come
Women stand heron heeled in corners.
Grown giddy and gaggled as schoolgirls
Taking tonight’s chance to be someone less well worn
The dancers move to oldies from way back when
(is it really twenty years? I used to hate this then but now it sounds ok.)
The songs remembered as fondly as old enemies.
Watches are checked and babysitters discretely consulted
Hugs, promises and smiles swapped or given
We won’t leave it this long again, surely

Outside taxies cluster like fireflies,
The guests scatter like the confetti in the chill air
As the last record sings ‘you can't hurry love.’

David Millington
27th May 2013

Monday, January 14, 2013


This is very short but it seems an appropriate day to post it.  I wrote it late in 2011 in response to a painting (not the image above by the way).  I kicked around some other snowflakey ideas but this seemed to hit the mark I was aiming for in a very few words.  Snowflake's not the actual title of the poem but it'll do.


I looked for you
as a man searching for blossom in a snowstorm.

For a heart to cradle

that would not melt away.

David Millington
14th January 2013