Though Black Xaloo was duck egg blue
he would insist his name was Black -
he said it put them off our tracks,
those baddies we would hunt OutBack
or chase across huge bed sheet waves,
me riding him through bolster stoppers.
He was my metamorphing, often dwarfing,
my one and only, quite imaginary,
whole menagerie of pets.
So many different forms he'd take -
the only one he couldn't make
was that of human being.
Since then I've known of other kids
with make-believe or made-up pals,
secret chums, an angel even - one that lived
inside my daughter's television -
and adults too, with secret loves,
but Black Xaloo was very special.
My bath was where he first appeared.
Sea surge and seiche, internal
waves rose vertical, infernal in an
enclosed space. The bathroom soon awash.
Me riding him to Babylon.
The mutants all escaped.
Hyena then, was Black Xaloo
(his friendly medic form)
when I was down with 'flu'. Out of the blue -
a darker blue than Black Xaloo's -
my temperature drove me to song,
and he became my Mastodon.
We saved the world a dozen times,
in ultra James Bond style.
He was my horse, my Pegasus, we flew
from mountain top to mountain top.
As bear he was my bodyguard -
but always Black Xaloo.
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10 comments:
Wonderful.
My alter ego was Maid Marion - I can't tell you the fun I had being her ... with my side-kick the incredibly handsome but rather foolish Robin Hood.
I can hear this being chanted at top voice while galloping a rocking horse. Great poem.
ha...fanciful write man...james bond was def more my style growing up but i did ride the pegasus as well perseus grabbed me int eh origina clash of th titans and would not let go...
I enjoyed your imagination in this one, Dave!
What a wonderful adventure Dave and a stupendous read! Great stuff!
Anna :o]
How I love this imagery!
In childhood, my alter-ego was King Arthur.
Why it had to be a male, I'm not quite sure.
Maybe I don't much like being female!!
Love it. Thank you. My eldest brother had an imaginary stove. It became part of the family and my mother told the tale of the very strange looks she got on buses when she would ask people not to sit on/put parcels on her son's stove.
lovely poem Mr Dave.
jane
What a shame we never met, what fun we might have had!
Isabel
I like the image you create. Thanks.
Brian
Ah, we seem to have had (almost) parallel existences.
Mary
Thanks muchly.
HyperCRYPTICal
Thanks as always.
Ygraine
I have just purchased Simon Armitage's version of The Death of King Arthur. Maybe I'll meet you (or my image of you) in it somewhere. I'll certainly look out for you!
The Elephant's Child
Oh, I just love that. I am picturing their faces! Thanks.
Sunny
Thanks.
Judging by this, you've had a vivid imagination all your life. No wonder you are so prolific!
Those "huge bed sheet waves" put me in mind of Stevenson's "Child's Garden of Verses".
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