Diary of an Unborn Writer #45 – Liberated Poem

We’ve been calling in an awesome tinted swirl. That this wasn’t for another, it was for someone else at all. We’ve been watching in a squall for moving to emerge and take us from our island we saw from movie theatre chairs and looked at each other as the silver scattered shadows between our faces

and asked.

What was in the space as your head leaned to mine and your hair smelled of cigarettes and incense from a hippy store and sky opened above our heads and made rolling clouds for us and made us beckon to the ground beneath our wings.  We asked it to come up and be our friend.

Birds fall down in empty streets and give a beggar your small change, strike a match ‘cos where he’s come from isn’t where you’re going. He has asked and found that what goes around was the magic of a Tuesday when you came round to eat. The air passed between in shrouds. The table was simple and you looked deafening even when making a funny faces because the brocolli was undercooked. When you offered a cheek to say goodbye my mouth faltered to your lips. It was embarassing but you said nothing in that way you can.

I miss you is what I am trying to say.

In the forests there was loneliness and pastures begged for company and the wind between buildings blew my misery to shame and after that there was a staircase down which rolled down many flowers we were lying at the bottom and they rolled into our mouths. I had a marigold between my teeth and you had a golden daffodil.

Last night was the craziest dream I ever had. It had lightening, which means to Red Indians that I am a clown. I looked over my shoulder and at shoulder height you stood, you came closer and leaned a chin so my lips rested next to yours. But not quite touching, I didn’t falter this time. Then an eagle – another healer – came and swept you off to Jersey so you could live with your friends in the sea.

I was here, still, but didn’t miss you as another came to stay her name was Fairy light and could not have been more different to you. For you are evil and manipulative and the enemies of freedom are knocking down your gates and if the eagle was a monster it was a better end for you. You would dream and in your sleep I had grown tired of waking you when asked where you are I’ve given up making an excuse.

I’m still here and flower tips, unopened lips and beggars’ skies we used to lean on pass between us in streams. We have nothing more to say and we’ve gone our separate ways and asked for lies to be spared and the comforts erased. No really you are fine, it was me all the time, it was taken from a book and edited to rhyme. That Tuesday we reset the clock so I never saw you naked, never even dreamed that this was about us at all.

Marigolds and daffodils make fine decorations but vegetables hold more to tell a tale.

Marigolds and daffodils make fine decorations but vegetables hold more to tell a tale.

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