A Lament for Marama…

Warwick Aiken has sent this poem in celebration of his lost home ‘Marama’ which was designed by architect William Trengrove in the 1920’s

MARAMA’S LAST DANCE

 

 

 

 

 

I met you years past lying seductive on a gentle slope

viewing a slumbered city of park brick and stone

I learned your name Marama means light

 

Perfect proportions pierce a man’s heart

I touched your curves caressed in February sun

my heart quick stepped as more was revealed

 

You were on my mind while others flirted

Each time I entered you I never lost that

fluttered heart of first encounter

 

Your scent enthralled after separations

Your limbs wrapped me in a special way

when coupled in a languid waltz

 

You danced in Norwesterly gust and Southerly squall

At night your special sounds of shifting

cradled me secure against the dark

 

Last September you found enchanted dancing shoes

to dance a tarantella beyond your range leaving

me to nurse your torn sinews and bruised skin

 

I hid those shoes beyond our sensibilities

On a placid February day they found your feet

making you move like a young Nureyev

 

You my aged Fonteyn beyond tendon and

ligament reach made too many steps too fast

aghast I watched your pain the beat insane

 

Whirling spinning veering shearing

angles a body should never know

I sat by you in our garden

 

My tears traced each curve as you lay

cold in suns rays while I left in solo tango

with our first meeting in my soul

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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