The cards and the flowers

What are we going to do with the cards and flowers?
Except press the pretty petal,
discard the remains
the ribbon and the sagging skin
of helium filled
the dazzing red balloon hearts
are covered in coins
they sagged and they sighed
in thier ceiling descent
we watch them die
I always felt guilty
for not letting them free
loving, gone
now what do we do with the old cards?
friends wrote loving words there
lost loves, the  handwriting
Special form, the way they joined the letters
As unique as the finger, printed scent
released
how long do we hold on
to a lid that gathers dust
Less frequent the visit
In drawers, where we fold
And trust the treasure
And as though on an upward journey
we designate to the loft
And winter keeps us out of there
gifts of loved ones
Past and present
At that particular  time of writing
Lay another world, two different people
From now…..
strange how things progress
and I wonder if I have moved forward
or just found a chasm, and remained there…
since parting
How many missing persons
From the past
always one in particular
I’m sure
singled out as special
That touched you heart
In a way you believed truly real
Dare you touch that wound
The sketched red heart of steel
with biro pen
Underlines a time, when
We loved
And as though a maturing wine
Our infant lovers choice of words
Fitted the time
Would we use the same words again
Or does maturity spoil
The purity of feeling?
As we shroud ourselves
In the complications of this modern time
As we cloud thinking
We, the world and its mechanism
Slowly milking what was once
A virginal colour
The card, is off white
It has become faded with the curse of time
But the sentiment is the same
If that love interest
Waned under a mountain
If that lost love interest
Is shaped across our ‘anvilled’ hearts spiked
with tears the hammers
On which drops strike
Blue blotting like ink spreads out
Gentle ripples in this hour
As we sit cross legged reading
All these tucked away gifts
Perhaps Reading that forgotten
card can bring it all back
if only in a place in your mind
that we set aside for such…

I want you to hold on for a minute.......
let......
closed eyes... drift..
reach and touch,
lost lovers again....
let fingers follow loving lines
and the scribbles
and the spills of wine
may they re emerge
like the ghostly mist
of any autumn morning kiss
missing.

I feel I must be brave
As the time has arrived
Almost like a reaper, sheaved
to
discard mine
under flame
A calm day I choose
Orange tongues lap,
the rose of your choice
slowly receeds with criminal ashes
The paper curled
The drawer rejoiced
As it lay empty
and I cried
For I felt the same way
oblivious to you
the outside
is curiously cleansed
yet lays a heart chillingly empty.





Pete Crompton
Sunday 1st June 2006, dedicated to the song ‘smile’ by David Gilmour.