In bed with Leonard Cohen








I want to be back

Sitting on someone’s floor

at a party I’ve gate-crashed

Listening to some gorgeous long haired guy

singing Suzanne takes you down

And I want to see again

those photos of Elvis

having his hair cut for the army


And I want to be again

sneaking into my first X film

Hiding cigarettes from my parents

Holding hands with someone I’ve only just met

Dancing obscenely close in some Soho cellar

I want to be kissed again

For the very first time


I want to hear Buddy Holly on a juke box

Sip my first coke in a Wimpy bar

My first rum and coke in a real bar

I want to be hearing Dylan for the first time

The Beatles

Buffy Sainte Marie

The Everly Brothers

Leonard Cohen




I want to be hugged by my mum and dad

I want to be back

Take me back

But here I am

in bed with Leonard Cohen

And his Book of Longing

Longing to be back.



© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems


The 60s revisited

These two poems are very much of the sixties. Not surprising as that’s when I wrote them! 

You might think that my poem “A Light for Eleanor”  was influenced by the Beatles’ song, Eleanor Rigby. In fact, I wrote it long before the Beatles’ song was ever published.

Although Eleanor was written in the 60s, the kind of shallow person it describes could just as well be someone from today. 

A light for Eleanor

Eleanor shines like the moon on water

of a sky lit night

and rainbows in a pool

She moves like a nightmare

feeling her way through the people

and the days of their nights

Eleanor the party giver

reclines on the sofa

rings on her fingers

and round her eyes

Eleanor talks like typewriter keys

and all the men listen

their eyes and hands wandering

Eleanor, conventionally different,

conforming but not knowing.

In the murky light of morning

eyes take a long time to open

Hands reach out to touch

the wrinkled mattress

of yesterday’s hopes

Aftermath of an elegant evening

Eleanor wakes

to the ash of her life

on the floor.



Who hears Naomi crying in the night?

Only the stars

There’s a passing plane

full of people

going to some suntanned beach

And Naomi turns to the pillow

She cries for yesterday

and the moon shines in

at her window

As the people on the plane

are served with Martinis

by sour faced girls

with sleep in their eyes

Naomi clasps the cover

in her dreams

The people on the plane

fasten their safety belts

Naomi sleeps

The stars have gone


 © Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems