Portmeirion

My mother said,
“Bow three times, low,
if you see the new moon
through glass.
And be sure to turn
your purse over.”

We rarely went on holiday.
We had no money.

Not far from the sea ,
an Italianate village
overhangs a Welsh river,
with statues
preserved from the past,
stone mermaids,
washed ashore.

We stroll in a dream,
eating ice-cream.

Sunshine comes and goes,
overcast by scurrying clouds.
We hope the weather will hold.

On the pavement I found
a pebble,
a ring
and a discarded wrapper
that caught the sun.
It twinkled.

Scrawled on a scrap of paper,
”The end of the world is nigh,
don’t look now but we’re watching’’

There were roses and apples
piled in a basket.
I wondered who left then there.
The bell rings in the tower.

We went back to a cheap hotel.
It was over.

My lover is away.
My lover is often away
but it makes no distance.

I dreamed of my father last night,
we wandered room to room
as he shared his wisdom.

“How can we believe what they tell us now
when we know they have lied before.
Its all manipulation,
since 1984 and before.
Think about Aldous Huxley.
He knew.
That man had vision.”

When I was a child I dreamed of flying,
flying above the blue curve of a bay,
probably flying homeward.

Outside my window
is a wall, overgrown,
with moss and ivy.
Goodnight room,
goodnight window,
goodnight moon.
Hello Cupid and Psyche.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s