You climbed a tree and looked down at me.
You spoke with your face.
I could see. You weren’t happy at all.
I had risen my voice. It didn’t feel like my choice.
I walked away. Like this was a play.
But this was no act.
You didn’t want to know. What you already knew.
My temper had torn our bond apart. Left holes in our hearts.
So I wrote to you. ‘We can see this through.’
There was nothing to see.
You built yourself a new home. A new start.
So in the heat I lay. Wishing for a new day. By the tree where you looked down at me.
I fear few know you. But what it is to be known? To hold faith that this dream is no dream at all. Possibly.
Your golden potential unravels day by day. An untouched block of wood being carved notch by notch. It is my melancholy pleasure to watch this process. It gives me life.
Such a gift is yours to give. But does it loosen our ties or make them stronger? That depends on my stubborn mind. My ongoing boredom and hypnotic drudge.
I want some motivation to continue my activity. You provide this. I am receptive in spurts. Like a bird flying high for a view I leave the shackles of this land momentarily. Wishing you were up here with me, you are, you are the sky.
(I want you to tear this to shreds.)
* * *
I can be your nothing. The thing in your life that doesn’t really matter. A background feeling. An underlying thought pattern. A goose with orange striped eyelashes.
While your everything comes and goes I am there. Washing dishes on a cold day. A cooling breeze on a hot one. Repositioning things on the mantle. A horned lemon with a sweet sweet tangy syrup dressing.
With all the potential I stay still; rarely showing any form. A shadow flickering in candlelight. The feeling of ‘what shall I do now?’ An unexpected hand gesture. A silken scarf with an image of Delia Derbyshire riding a resplendent golden moose represented by colourful sequins.
Time makes the highs low and the lows high.
The esteemed are just the flavour of the month. Change occupies all.
Ambition at an all time low but I feel bliss sat next to a cat.
Adapt to the situation don’t try to change it to fit you.
Water dips and flows into every crevice of the rocky sea shore but is slowly shaping the hard, strong cliff wall.
If you are like that, you are life sustaining, the lowest of low, making all those around you feel high.
Feed your friends and treat them well and they will return the favour. A painted glass teardrop can mean a thousand things. It can be treasure. It can be crap. The value is not in the pieces you hold; it is inside of you.
A tic is an sudden, repetitive, voluntary response to an unwanted urge. It is our way of measuring time.
Sitting by the lake. You are by my side. Looking at the cotton sky mirrored in the fisherman’s playground; a thought enters my head. I turn to you to whisper my idea but you are not there.
I watch the grass grow at the side of my blanket. Bees and flies pass by; secure in the summer’s plentiful bounty. I can’t help but feel powerless. Possibilities number too many and decisions too far away.
A cold breeze blows so I pack up my things. Leaving all as it was. If I could get you here would you even share this pleasure that hits my chest. Short and sharp, painful like a spasm, yet warm and reassuring. I feel better.
I thought I heard your voice but it is just a bird alarmed that I am nearby. Walking on the way back I see a kaleidoscope of colour on the graffiti mural on the side of the shop. I am steps away from you and my heart begins to pound.
Key in the door and the room lights up. Cat greetings with a purr and demand for food. Although just a roof over my head; the place smells of comfort. This is your welcome and I am back inside you once more. I am home.
Take me away from this night sky I’ve inhabited for so long.
Withstanding wind and all kinds of atmospheric tension.
A shout from my past scars seeping works of sap into being.
I will leave a bare branch but it is in my bark my legacy lies.
Textured hope and virtue exceeding a butterfly’s beat.
Leaving the deceptive darkness let me live through the pure spring breeze.
A two fold cycle we’ll ride until we are within each other.
Laying my roots down in your garden. I’m sorry if I’m irresponsible.
I feel like I’m dreaming. Stable and still. In silence I’ll think of you.
Trying not to upset your environment. I’ll breathe oxygen if you need it.
Will I get visiting wildlife? Maybe that will change my course. Certainty is distant.
Cold comes from the North and East in these parts. Memories will come and go.
The sun can heal your trauma. I don’t want to cause you to suffer.
Though trees bleed and leaves fall down life pushes us forward again and again.
Is it enough to share and appreciate the good things that happen?
Endings are inevitable. As the new day rolls in; I do not know what will be.