Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Cause I've Got Things I Could Talk To You About

What do you get when a wildflower and a poet fall in love? 
There'll be the wild beat of the drums. 
Puppet shows. 
Laughter, joy and the kissing away of sorrows. 

"You will never have to be alone," he said. 
"As my muse you shall travel the lengths 
 Of this beautiful land. 
 I'll keep you close to my heart," the poet conjectured and  held fast her thorny hand. 

The wildflower blossomed.
Collected pretty things. 
Never to be worn, to be silently oohed and ahead at. 
Akin to the awe the poet harboured; 
To a life that togetherness promised. 
The possibilities glimmered 
The way the sea catches the sun  
In every crease and crevice of a wave. 

What do you get when a wildflower and a poet fall in love? 
A family. 
Puppet shows. 
Light and shadow performances at the day's close. 

Magic. And pets. 
And pillow forts. 
That  eventually tumble....


All the king's horses and all the king's men 
Couldn't put their home back together again. 

The wildflower hardly recognised herself. 
But she couldn't drift away in the wind. 
Roots. 
Wouldn't let her float away with her kind. 

The poet tackled life
With another steady wife. 
This has been a heady dream, indeed it has, he admitted. 
But a poet needed someone to keep him grounded. 


A normal wife who wouldn't demand. 
Be happy with the daily grind.
A son who will hardly see 
The world from his shoulder clutching on his neck,  giggly.  

He would read about the wildflower though
In a quiet corner of a secret alcove. 
It would be an afternoon of discoveries. 
Of "I wonder what" and similar mysteries. 

Impatient, he would send a pigeon across the city
"Where are you? " the pigeon would coo. 
Into the ears of the fragile duo. 
They would weep and let go 
In their own quiet ways. 

That's what happens when a poet and a wildflower fall in love. 
There is thunder, there is rain
There is a general sense of agreement in the firmament 
Till you flounder and find your soul scratched up, beaten and asunder. 
So... You let go and weep
For the parts you thought were yours to keep. 

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