I.
I’ve come back to the childhood town
the hills and streams much the same
but all roads wider, homes pulled down
a landmark known by a different name
the school gone now, swank and swell
s
wallowing up the wide tag field
the ravenous maw of a starred hotel
where high once dark falcons wheeled
my old home razed and in its stead
a concrete chrome monstrous block
rears up on its haunch, its angry head
with red glass eyes scares passing folk
and I know it’s an absurd wish
that wants to keep them standing still;
things move on, beyond foolish
to step back over an old doorsill.
But even so I trudge new lanes
raw and red, to find old friends
and a love lost, but for all my pains
each road leads to the emptiest end.
I come back at the close of day
hopes rise and fall, and my heart grieves
moving on is moving away
no trace remains of the one who leaves.
Oh, I know it’s a risky wish
that wants to keep things standing still;
the world goes on, beyond foolish
to yearn for youthful stream and hill.
II.
She was a girl of a hundred braids
skin the satin of savannah nights
her onyx brows curved sharp blades
her fingers frisky firefly lights,
her lips the perfume of a vineyard
where purple grapes press heavy and low;
and I was a lad, handsome and hard
but soft enough to love her so.
We met where the secret twilight wanes,
we laughed and loved down the sunlit stream,
we wept the tears of the ancient rains,
then kissed to life a splintered dream.
All dreams go back from where they hail
and she too one day said goodbye;
but she carved us both in perfect detail,
with her in my arms to remember love by;
she said her gift was for me alone,
I could not take it back with me,
our secret love must not be shown,
and there was no way but to agree.
We walked back up the hardstone hill
the hollow fig tree stooped grey and wept
and took the dolls; the doves went still;
the sun spat blood; and then we left.
Oh I know it’s a reckless wish
to keep all things from moving on;
the world must spin, beyond foolish
to yearn for a lost love now long gone.
III.
So my quest ends? no path or park
no town lane will lead me clear?
where will I find my princess dark?
and I have just one more night here.
If I can’t find her then my goal
has to be the stooped grey fig
and the dolls, if I find them whole -
a small keepsake and nothing big.
Heart-sore, forlorn, never more alone
I start for the place where we dreamt
that small stream, hill of hardstone
the old fig tree with its hair unkempt.
The light fades as I slowly walk
the sky wears the merest wash
the track narrows, birds roost in flocks
their song stilled to a complete hush;
and it’s dark before too long,
no moon comes out to light the road;
the cicadas fine tune their song
disturbed sometimes by a courting toad.
The shapes of distant hill and woods
seem the same, but the stars are strange
and thin their light and not so good
the air, it's full of wings and change.
Oh I know it’s an unwise wish
that wants to keep the same outlines;
all hills erode, beyond foolish
to go on a quest for old love signs.
IV
The dog in the sky bays and sends
a scream of wind that flays me cold;
the cicada song abruptly ends
and toad tunes too are quickly recalled.
Something like sap warm as blood
drip-drips soft menacing in the dark
and is sucked down by the silky mud
a firefly lights an eerie spark
and puts it out as soon as it’s lit
as if its fearful of its own light
moth wings brush past, quietly flit
away into an endless night.
A rustle of leaves brings me up short
and a feline cry torn into a cough
make me rethink if I ought
to stop this quest for a fig and love.
The tree looms up dark grey and grim
even more stooped with its years
and I am running, my heart brims
with a strange mix of love and fear -
the hole yawns wide like a door to death
and its deep darkness strikes me blind
I lift my torch and hold my breath,
hope I’ll get what I’ve come to find.
Oh I know it’s a foolhardy wish
that thrusts its hand into the dark;
all trees wither, beyond foolish
to look for signs in the hollows of bark.
V.
A child can stand it’s that big
and wide enough to swivel round
the torchlight shows heaped leaves and twigs
layered decay on the ground.
I look long into the abyss
then dig frenzied into the hole
and some time later the trowel hits
something solid and I know it’s a doll.
I fling the tool away from me
and kneel and claw at the soft muck
and soon enough the face is free
but the rest of the carving’s firmly stuck,
and the figure is still as perfect
as the day she gave it to me;
the years have had no effect
on the head that’s plain to see.
It comes free with a final pull
the man is me, and in his palm
is a scaled down white human skull!
the rest of the skeleton’s in his arms!
Outside in the night a raven calls
as I reel back shocked and helpless,
then I and tree and doll all fall
headlong into deepest darkness.
Oh I know it’s a risky wish
to want an end to every quest;
all things wither, and tales finish
love and yearning’s laid to rest.
WC
– 1000
FCA
This work is wholly imaginary, any resemblance to any persons living, or...dead....is purely a coincidence...
Read about the HoH challenge, and do join in. Wishing everyone a spooky Halloween!
