(Originally June 2022)
Who are you, devil-woman? Nature's beauty.
Finest twinkle in the blue night sky.
You’re the winter road in my deep mind's eye.
Though you couldn’t be painted if I tried.
This visage of you is a palette of emotion.
A splash of colour. A knowing. A feel.
It’s not a 3D picture but I know you’re real.
Can I see you? The answer’s yes and no,
cos our mind isn’t able to play this HD reel.
But your resemblance has always lived deep in my soul,
in which your wisdom forever played such an important role.
It knows the kiss of your aura, your herbal aroma scent.
It knows the touch of your lips, and all this represents.
I come to you in my moments of connection.
As I stand still and open in the hydrangea section
In the dips and the valleys and the rolling coast,
the sun-kissed estuaries where I feel you most;
In my heart, as the oyster catcher trills,
as the seal looks on and the jellies show their frills.
In the sun-dried tomatoes in the picnic spread,
with some sorrel, plantain and wholewheat bread.
I feel you, as I sit upon the strand
and feel the purple shells in the whitewashed sand.
Your essence is in every delicious cake
That your decorated fingers endeavour to bake.
With ease though, you’re a creator, nature’s finest shaper.
You’re the work of art, before it’s put down on paper.
You don’t know the full extent of your magical touch.
Or What your mind can do with your glass and such.
As I lie awake I hear you bang a gong,
as the nightjars warble and get it on.
A brand new feeling - one I never knew,
till the zap of your fingers conducted lightning through.
You’re with me, as I wander the bright bluebell woods,
in the fields as I note how the daffs are stood;
In a line, as I order a dirty great chai.
As a pick me up, after I stop and cry -
About my inner web of unwashed laundry,
against which a bucket of suds seems rather paltry.
Yet you’re here, as the wind makes the bubbles fly,
through the crisp blue air of a November sky,
under which I wander empty roads,
finding fungi, frogs and mottled brown toads:
Which shrink and hide and crawl away,
like my heart when it sees the light of day.
Shining in, warming up, like an embers glow.
As I crack like a pond skimmed in ice and snow.
From even your lightest barefoot tread,
this ice ain’t half as thick as it looks in my head.
As your heels pushes down in the mud and grime,
And kicks up ancient sediment and ancestral slime.
Then the waters turn murky, on a January’s day.
O Give me sun and fruits and let me lie in hay!
But even here, in my darkest winter’s night.
I thank the muddy eddies and cold liquid’s bite.
Cos you’re healing me, as you quit and run.
As you cross oceans chasing your love of sun.
As the tears run down my blemished face,
As I feel it all, caught in death's embrace.
One more trauma washes away as I get dragged violently home,
by the turbid currents while I scream and groan
Thanks to you, coming in and shaking up my life.
I will someday find contentment, and maybe then you’ll be my wife.
With Love,
Dan Morrell x
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