Castle in the Clouds (I.P.)

By Silver Spun Sand

Mon, 02 Jun 2014
  • 1670 reads
4 comments
 
Her mother seeks her out – but 
not in her bedroom, for she seldom
sleeps there...
 
in the yard maybe, curled up
by a rusting mangle; a fat, grizzled tomcat, overspilling
from her arms.
 
Failing that, perchance she’s curled up
in the coltsfoot by the sycamore tree –
root-bare – ripped, years since
 
from its umbilical ties by a corridor 
of wind – still bemoaning 
its shrivelled fruits, echoes
 
through the darkling scrim, where
deer and dormice make their homes
and centipedes crawl on stones.
 
God forbid – she be beside
the railway line; seeking the buzz –
the susurrus...cold-steel against her ear...
 
nor gazing into the lily-pond
aching to touch her own reflection –
only if she dare. So don’t look there.
 
Look in the cellar, Mother dear,
where crab-apple wine stews and simmers
like Satan’s brew... 
 
wherein she lies, a-dreaming,
of a castle in the clouds, of a princess...
a winsome prince...
 
a witch, and a spindle; a pin-prick 
that hurts, but, didn’t Mother say, love should...
if only a little? 
.
 
 
Certificate 12
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Surreal
Inspiration Point (work that responds to our weekly writing cue)

Comments

Submitted by a102866 on

An enticing but winsome daliance with the unknown! A trail of tears that winds through the years. If only the days of wine and song were not just a panacea. Your descriptive language brings this poem to life. Have a very cherry day!

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks for your wonderful comment, a...  You made my day, at leastsmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by jeand on

HI Tina

I marvel at the way you use words to wrap around meanings. This was lovely writing. 

Jean

Jean Day

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, Jean. Appreciated.

Tina