I was having dinner with a lady friend in a restaurant on the North Shore in Sydney some time ago. She is of German descent and, naturally, we were in a German restaurant. She is a life long friend and we know each other as well as brothers and sisters do. I noticed this young girl with a madonna like face sitting at the head of this table for eight. She was alone and something about her gracefulness and silence touched me. I turned to Carola and commented on her.
Her eyes twinkled and she said “I suppose you want to write a poem about her.” I picked up a napkin and asked her for a pen. The following poem was the result. You know, there is something very satisfying in writing poetry because you can look deep within yourself and release what is there. That’s how it is for me anyhow. I hope you enjoy.
Live well,
Ollie Lind
Party for one
She sits alone, the table’s for eight
they are not here, perhaps they’re late.
Madonna like in quiet reserve,
her company they may not deserve.
Her deep brown eyes, so clear and steady
her soft white hands, ever at the ready
to express a mood, a thought, a feeling,
her gaze is fixed upon the ceiling
of dark hewn beams criss cross the white
panels of plaster reflect the light.
That one of obvious quality
should be alone so totally
her dress, demeanour and dignity
is plain and clear for all to see.
What is it about her face
reminds me of a state of grace?
Is it her air of innocence
brings to mind past youth spent
in indolence and gaiety
rather than solemn piety?
the innocence is youth in bloom
as she gazes across the room.
The waiters flit here and there
attending to her every care.
As they sense her quiet reserve
quickly, quietly they stoop to serve
this lonely princess of the night
in the hope perhaps she might
bless them with a trace of smile
or favour with no sense of guile.
An air of mystery soon pervades
her quiet reflection soon invades
my senses, forcing me to wonder
what spell she places us all under.
At last her friends come through the door
she is solemn and silent no more.
She rises smiling, eyes aflashing
talking loudly forever dashing
the cloak of mystery cast asunder
destroys whatever spell I’m under.
She is no more, no less, I’ll wager,
than simply another teenager
but yet, when she was still and silent
she echoed deep my own torment.
Youth and beauty seeming spurned
my own past life cannot return
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