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By hutmaster
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24 January 2008 |
As a boy I suffered from severe asthma. Such flights of fancy were, I suppose, a coping mechanism. Such semi-dreams (sleep was a infrequent visitor when the attacks were at their worst) were really a self-taught calming strategy.
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Moon washes finch-heavy whin,
rustling with lamping raiders
yards from my gasping cell.
I cry for water-
thirsting for company
just to say
-You will not die.
Not die a lung-burst
God-cursed, breathless death
before the two-tone pink pills work,
and the dream basket arrives
to ferry me out.
Me. As wheezing centre-forward.
Me. As punctured funny man.
Into back fields, big braes,
loneys, lanes and shadowed hedges.
Black thread on door knockers.
Black thread on worn knickers.
Out.
To live again in fantastic flight
tar-melting sun days,
knee bleeding scab days,
whin pricking sin days.
I sail with serene breath
over seething night
above oblivious streets
that sing, speak, laugh,
fight, curse and cry.
See cringeing dogs, too slow to win,
and Lizzie's burnished apples
that 'll spoil if left unstolen,
in spite of her sentry son
hidden beyond the glass topped wall.
In luscious ivy,
in fragrant orchards,
he waits to bushwack me.
Up the bouldered hill where lovers go,
hear half-hearted giggling No's,
then slow grunts of satisfaction.
See wet Woodbine in the afterglow
staining the breath of love.
Abroad - with perfect lungs
across the known world.
Kitty's goats repose on chairs
combing caprine beards - waiting for me.
I drift on
through purple clouds.
Long faces contemplate the lusty night.
Over black back lanes,
old people in old houses
cry in their sleep to be
highflown as me.
Lowing cattle chide the sixpenny moon
silvering night-shuttered shops.
It lights perpetual night in the cluttered cemetery.
Landfall, dream drunk,
I tremble in my captive bed
gasping my last,
dreading the eternal hour
before saviour sun
mops the fearsome shadows.
I'll be alright.
I'll sail in splendid air again.
Tonight.
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Hi HM
Written by maipenrai (783 comments posted) 24th January 2008 | an excellent piece of work is this mate.
Bernie |
Written by DressedInPoetry (23 comments posted) 24th January 2008 | | I like your choice of vocabulary and use of sound devices. Not only does it make it flow, it makes it seem even more fantastical, which is brilliant. |
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