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Wednesday, 9 May 2018

Hidden Treasure

I am at an age when most of my friends are married-off. All I have are thirty love poems and some sun-lit holiday photos. The pub can be a lonely place after six pints.

'You are both so lucky---to have someone. This is what I was thinking at your weddings, privately. To know that someone loves you and will not leave you or choose another man over you. I'm beginning to think I am one of those people who will never get married. A male spinster.'

When emotions are loosened, tears thick with pain trickle down.

'You'll get married Dan. You're still young.'

Then a face comes into ones mind and fills it with grief. The married men are supportive, rational.

'Keep going mate and you will get there.'

'Have you tried the internet?'

All I can see is her red-cheeked face. She is sitting in the chair opposite. Drinking a Bailey's with my school friends. In another dimension? The future? I cannot communicate in conversation what I want to say. It can only be illuminated in a sober light. Poetry is the language of paradox. Some free woman have loved me.

'I still think she is the one.'

'Come on mate.'

'Another drink or food?'

'Food. I could murder a kebab.'

The simple words of friends heal the heart so easily. I will publish my poems. They are a map to the hidden treasure which lies buried between a man and a woman. Only prose can fill in the gaps. Poetry merely distills the passing into blue on white.



30 Love Poems by Dan Sandman...coming soon...