to the Lost Boys

I am no Wendy;
but my voice brings you back to me.
And you sit around my feet,
anxious for a story
or a kiss.

Listening to my words
spinning adventures,
like so much golden thread;
spellbound by my gentle whisper.

You are welcome to stay,
through spring rain
and autumn crisping,
though you still search
for someone with soft hands
and bountiful breast.

And when my gracious gifts spill over
from my full-grown lap,
you scoop them up with wondrous hands
and all the hunger
of a Lost Boy.
 

Author's Note

you asked Why the title was To the Lost Boys . . . and the last line only refers to one . . . there's always another, they show up here and there, sometimes one at a time, sometimes in twos and threes, and they tend to sit around a while, listening to my words, gathering hope enough to light out again

Reviews

[Tony]

Okay! your muse has swam ashore and you are ready to kick a*s. See? it is all in the attitude. Those lost boys should bow down and kiss them toes of yours. It doesn't take, magic fairy dust, but rather...your wholesome presense and whispered voice, to appreciate all that you are. This piece should be encouraging to all the lost boys. Thank you

Tony

[V. Lucien Maier]

Nice I love when people see themselves in stories (peter pan) and bring themselves, and their own situations in.
Well done the flow and feel are excellent
what should I read next of yours?

[Brianna Brie]

I like where you went with this poem. It is very unique and keeps the reader wondering. Splendid write!

[Keef]

you articulate the mother and child bond well, as well as the creak and pop of the umbilical cord.

for me though i would like to see this broken into appropriately sized bits and punctuated in the way that other writing might be, because this reads in the style of a story book and as such, handrails in the form of punctuation might work to the good of the whole:

I am no Wendy;
but my voice brings you back to me.
And you sit around my feet,
anxious for a story
or a kiss.

Listening to my words
spinning adventures,
like so much golden thread;
spellbound by my gentle whisper.

You are welcome to stay,
through spring rain
and autumn crisping,
though you still search
for someone with soft hands
and bountiful breast.

And when my gracious gifts spill over
from my full-grown lap,
you scoop them up with wondrous hands
and all the hunger
of a Lost Boy.

as a first line: 'i am no wendy' takes some beating: it could be used with care in all manner literary circumstances.

just make sure that no fecker gets to the bumper sticker making man before you do doll...

[Poeticpiers]

THIS IS BEAUTIFUL IN CONTENT EMILY PRESENTED IN FLAWLESS POETIC PROSE tHe lost boys are always seeking a mother figure

[Lizanne]

Beautiful work. A wonderful poetic "mature" fairy tale. I curtsey to you and appauld loudly.

[Fran Marie]

Hey Em, I am liking this one sooo much :)~ great piece of writing here my friend
and as always a joy to read your words~Love this!!~Fran

[~Mariposa Una Lila~]

ohhh la la Miss Emily!! naughty gurl.....love ya x00x0x0

[Jonhoi Vaughn]

Poetry is not to be under estimated. Your style is soft, graceful and potent. As always I am very impressed with your gentle explosion.

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Full of confidence and mystery... I am intrigued by this piece.

[TL Boehm]

OH EM! I just want to stick my face up to the screen and BREATHE this one into my soul. It is one of those moments that needs to be felt...so much behind the words. You are a storyteller.