Handfulls, he heaped handfulls

Were they petals, branches or fruit?

The monochrome diary glowed suddenly

He had been asleep for hours in band aids

Things his mother had said, bits of arse


There was a hut he had painted golden

and yellowed bears teeth

He always felt better in the mornings

When Arnott was around anyway

Her mouth, her hair, her eyes


This careworn morning he imagined

He saw skyrockets and fantails

People strolling, coming to lunch

Roll of green notes in his blue pocket

No grey pain to shake him down


Always Fenna standing on Bella’s rock

Wearing boxers and a tantalising smile

Like a siren tug in granite sea

Where ships come to rest awkwardly

Bold barnacles grip black with tenacity


This summers day

The swallows returned purple

He was sure he would see a rainbow

Write letters in wet sand

Take his notebook off the wall




About edenbray

I've always enjoyed writing and thats all I want to do... .. . I’m not sure why I stopped writing, was it 9/11? .. . Eden Bray is born ugly, wet and covered in blood, mucous and bodily functions. The effluence of my short life .. . I'm a Writer and Artist - since 1966, now a Blogger ~ I write lots of poems, written essays, articles, reviews, opinion + comment .. . please join the shebang but more importantly please leave me a marker with a comment for my ego and my encouragement :- thanks, edenbray
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