A HEARTBEAT LOST

For Peter Benson...in memoriam

My heart sank when I heard
of your sudden passing. This was
something too final, too hopeless to bear -
the certainty I'd never, ever, see you again.
I was (and am) grieving even more
than your adoring public, a grief
unexpressed yet so profoundly felt.
Still, I can smile at the recollections, though,
of your wicked sense of humour
and such touching vanity - in which
year did you claim you were born??
But smiles are soon ousted by bitter tears.

There is only your alter ego to cling to now:
Bernie Scripps, frozen in time
within a treasured collection of videos
resting on a special shelf. And those post cards
you sent from Goathland and New York
have taken on new significance.
Their images and words are stuck in my skull
where they evoke so vividly
each separate memory of you in life.
But your future was obliterated by the thunderbolt:
our distant friendship, your stardom - all
are consigned now to memory's sombre tomb
and I, at this moment in time, am nowhere.

Oh how I wish I could become as stone,
unable to feel,
for this agony of loss
catches so in my throat... 

TRANSMUTATION

Sometimes, the observer can become the observed:
my head encircled by scarlet petals,
leaves in place of fingers, tongue a mute stamen.
And all those characteristics

that hitherto defined me as human
are unrecognizable now.
Unbelievable sense of liberation!
Time, finally,

to just be,
to flirt with the insect kingdom.
Day rolls into night,
that mosaic of shimmering orbs.

Fireflies.
Their entrancing patterns
messing with my awareness:
is that truly the Flower Queen I sense before me?

Incredulous, basking in the morning sun
I'm suddenly whole,
at one with all of my kind.
And in the glittering ethereal

sprinkling of summer dew,
where my roots reach deep
into the soft moist soil,
I draw nourishment for my green cells.

Two bees
competing to make me reproduce,
their legs heavy with yellow pollen.
My sap rising,

now flooding in anticipation.
Ah, such blissful metamorphosis:
in this sun drenched meadow
I have found paradise!

I smile inwardly. Beautiful butterflies dancing on my petals.
I am everything
I have ever dreamed of being -
how astonishing is dehumanization!

The nucleus of the scarlet poppy,
intoxicated by it's own essence,
exists in a state of utter bliss.


I am taking a break for a couple of weeks, so will "see" you again soon.
Happy Blogging! :))

THE SURFER

The rich glow of sunset rides the restless waves.
He glides high on a crest, sure of his balance
and then soars like a gull. And landing is just as graceful.
He slides into the beach. Soaking, dripping wet.

He tells me it's California next year, as the *Strand
no longer challenges. But he's said it many times before,
always at summer's end when the lengthening nights
begin to deflate him. Touching the deep battle scar
on his thigh: "The Strand can be lethal!"

When he kisses me it's like drowning at sea.
But I find I'm developing gills.
It's daunting though, such fanatical enthusiasm,
and my slightest hesitation infuriates him.
Huge decision. He's asking me to sacrifice so much.
I am no groupie...but those gorgeous golden curls!

I plug in the Beach Boys. He drives the Volkswagen
into the night. The entire Universe is us,
sunshine and surf - and a peculiar kind of togetherness
that depends on lots of time apart and no firm commitments.
Approaching headlights pick out the blonde in his curls

and a picture-perfect bone structure.
Here, is my life.

*Trebarwith Strand, Cornwall, England.