Today, we present a poem that takes you on a journey through time, exploring the possibilities of what could have been. “Might I, Louise, Take You By the Hand?” invites you to join the poet as they ride on a Time Machine to see what smoke can see. Michael Stanley-Jones uses powerful imagery and metaphors to capture the essence of time, and its impact on human relationships. We hope you enjoy this thought-provoking and emotionally resonant piece of poetry, and look forward to sharing more work from this talented poet in the future. Stay up to date on the newest in the world of Fashion, Arts, Beauty and Lifestyle; Follow FAB on Instagram.
Might I, Louise, Take You by the Hand?
Might I, Louise, take you by the hand
and invite you to ride with me,
through the smoky land of Time,
to see what smoke can see?
With Time’s loose cannon we command
the ages do our bidding,
and aim the years to fit our dreams,
by militant demand.
Who else can hear the cannon’s din,
its particulated sound,
and march out of step with us,
across our private mistéd ground?
In Time, we are but loosely bound,
so mount the Time Machine
and ride beyond its opaque screen,
to see what smoke can see.
We travel through Time at different speeds
on separate, gallant steeds,
yours galloping future-bent,
mine backstroking Time’s narrow stream.
When half a century ago
as a freckled lad fifteen,
when youths were growing ever bolder,
the shy Manikin approaches her,
A young woman standing
freshly pressed in uniform,
waiting for her future groom;
untouchable, all assume.
The features of her impassioned face,
soon to give the lover chase,
mounting high into the saddle,
prepared to enter courtly battle.
Switch on the Time Machine again,
shift the yearly scene,
reëngage our youths in Time,
to see what could have been.
Cast forward the boy to manhood,
erase the freckle, firm the muscle,
cut off the hair that hides
those wild Celtic eyes.
Louise, too, advance in years
though more slowly, pole pole.
The youths are now aligned,
in one generation, it appears.
Does she see the Manikin
grown tall and fair-skinned,
and slip off her uniform for a gossamer gown,
the starry night they go to town?
Two stallions draw an enchanted coach,
troops stand in rapt attention,
in honour of your Honour
and Beauty’s pure intention.
I come to offer you a dance,
your graceful hand falls into mine,
our bodies share a newfound bliss,
in dreamy permanence.
Then the stars signal their dissent,
Time’s cruelty descends and bids
enchantment to repent,
our fallen dreams forever rent.
Sounding high over firmament,
the cannon calls back our fate.
Never the dance to repeat,
Age locks the eternal gate.
Yet we imagine a different state,
where youth may roll back the years
and disobey Time’s crusted fate,
to dance our hearts beyond the gate.
Through the smoky land of Time,
we may lose the light and end where we began:
Might I, Louise, take you by the hand?
