Not We But One - the first 36 years

 (for Melanie)

Those who say that marriage is safe, they ought to marry you:
So many years of roses’ thorns, and still no getting through.

I hurt you more than any can when seeming not to love
The heart for whom I live and die; believe me, love, I do.

I talk as if I know the score, can sing the words, but still
I love you far too much for me, not near enough for you.

I flirted with your daring once, and called your beauty mine,
Unwarned then of a charge so high, so wild, so overdue.

It takes too long to cleave together, marry all to one,
But if I kiss-you-quick goodbye, I cleave myself in two.

Since love is war, a heart attack, between the good and bad,
I’d offer to surrender: but I’m fighting me not you.

O head and heart if you should wed, don’t boast your Crown of Thorns:
The Rose’ll think you’re ready - that’ll be the end of you.

*

Not ours, my love, the teen-dream green-screen songs
And films n’ soaps n’ mills n' boons n’ ads
Of 'hunters' living with their mums and dads,
The twenty-something dramas, dinging-dongs,
The sizzling catalogues of straps and thongs,
The Darcys, Juliets and golden lads
In modern strip from tales in which the cads
Are fifty-odd like us and cause all wrongs.

Our story didn't end like these above
In frozen celebrations, wedding dress;
We raised a daughter into Phase and Next,
We're grownups grown together, more or less,
Our romance is a realistic text:
A dangerous, married, grail-quest of true love.

Happy anniversary, dear

REAL WIFE


We're not the teen-dream lovers of the songs
And films n’ soaps n’ mills n' boons n’ ads,
The 'hunters' living with their mums and dads,
The twenty-something dramas, dinging-dongs,
The sizzling catalogues of straps and thongs,
The Darcys, Juliets and golden lads
In modern strip from tales in which the cads
Are fifty-odd like us and cause all wrongs.

Our story didn't end like these above
In frozen celebrations, wedding-deaths;
We've raised a daughter into Now and Next,
We're grownups grown together, more or less,
Our romance is a realistic text:
A dangerous, married, grail-quest of true love.






34 years with the right bloody woman. (The context for this is my poor old Uncle Riley who, when congratulated on his ruby wedding said, 'Aye, 60 years with the wrong bloody woman!') Note the artistic placing of daughter's hand in the right of the frame.