Monday, 15 March 2010

I'm William Blake - Just For Short Periods

Dreaming can be such a beautiful experience.

I was alone,
by the River Taw.
The cry of distant birds
through the still
and chilly morning air.

I was looking up;
looking down
and mixing colours
on a palette
made from pale slate.

Hanging on the back
of my folding chair
was an Allen Ginsberg
The one I should
have bought
in San Francisco.

I was painting you
as an angel
drifting through
my bedroom.
You passed below
the Gyson print
I taped to the ceiling
many years ago.
Burroughs was visible
through the curtains.

Your beautifil head
was inclined to the right:
long hair flowing
like a stream over your skin.
The morning light
was playing with your eyes,
making them sparkle
as you looked out at me.

Mr Coltrane was playing
A Love Supreme
as he looked obliquely
from the bottom corner
of the large canvas.
He didn't notice
that you were in the picture.
My old guitar
was resting in the corner
of the bright room.
All was peaceful
and I felt that I was part of life

Each time I dream,
I dream of you
and I fear the picture
will be finished all too soon.


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