Poet-In-Residence by Barry Tebb

You are my dream

Of the East

You are my life

In the West

Fused in one

You begin my day

And end each day

With a silent smile

When I die I will

Have only my love

To leave you.

You said I had written

No poems for you

And you had written

Only cheques.

I cannot go on loving

The empty air

No matter how many cheques

That air may bear.

I have a headache

And heartache

Remembering another love

Twenty years ago,

Living and loving and leaving

A city for a cottage

On the moors, the

Hyaline air, the silence

And the distant stars.

I am your poet

Officially or unofficially

You may not know it

But I am.

From the hilly north

I came and sang.

I found myself

At least half-a-swan.

Through all my rage

You see a man

Wanting love.

Through all your calm

I see a woman loving.

by Barry Tebb

Other poems by 'Barry Tebb'

The Dreamer, The Sleep

Without The Wherewithall

To Leeds Big Issue Sellers

Our Son

To The Sound Of Violins

Marginalia

Infamous Poet

Pulled From A Life Some Leaves

In Harm’s Way

Coming To Terms With Schizophrenia

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