The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
Hello everyone who follows David King (My Father). On behalf of the family this post is to let you know that Dad sadly passed away, peacefu...
Tom Lubbock, writing in The Independent (friday 15 May 2009) returned to the age old topic of censorship in the arts. Well, in painting act...
This post has in a sense been handed to me by two or three responses to my post On not getting it. In the course of discussing how a reade...
Tuesday, 26 July 2011
A Stellar Love Story.
We were childhood sweet hearts.
(I was a one girl-man back then - I guess
the starlight must have dimmed my eyes a tad.)
We saw each other every day:
one evening she would ride down to me,
the next I'd cycle up to her. And that
was really something - no mistake!
Long time it took to turn us into lovers,
we never met but one of us was knackered!
One time I came a cropper way up there.
Well, on that busy roundabout outside The Plough.
The slipstream from a distant comet, took my wheel
and I was rolling in the stardust, thought I'd died.
The landlord came and fixed me up, he did,
but that was it, I didn't feel like any "How's your Father"
that night. Which discombobulated her. She had a strength
I never had, and that's a fact. Don't know
where it came from, but it had to be believed.
Some nights she'd leave me feeling like a rag doll
dragged up from a restless sea and left to dry.
That was the night of nights though, that night
of the famous puncture. Just getting on my bike I was,
to cycle home, I noticed that the tyre was flat.
I fixed it, 'course I did, but by that time
it was too late to make it home - or so she said.
We slept together that night. First time ever.
Kept it to ourselves - well, bet yer bottom!
Then in the early hours we both woke up -
did everything together by that time. Know what?
She only sticks her finger out into the night...
and when she draws it back it was aglow.
Starlight shining from it like it was a candle in the night.
Romantic, that was. Well, I thought so, at the time.
It couldn't last of course. If only 'cause we rode
those bikes into the ground - well, into the stratosphere,
I s'pose. They don't make bikes like those these days!
I am obliged to Magpie Tales for the picture prompt.