Read Poem: YOURS, by John Jarvis Hands

This is it: I’ve finally placed it: the appalling
sadness of those monochrome wartime years.
The football stadium, Albert Hall dimensions of those
cavernous concert halls, regiments and squadrons
solemnly circulating, like black-wax
seventy-eight records, slower than tumbrels.
The droning crooner, the dance-band momentum, kisses
swiftly given, or shyly mused upon.
Last waltz coming up; “Yours.”
Yours; but soon in barracks, canteen and bedroom
never to be so deeply mused upon
or crooned over again.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.

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