Poem for Polly

by Robert Warrington

Little girl at the dressing up box
in the Dorset jungle
playing with feathers and alligators
trying on pain even though it’s real
Sitting by the waterside in dappled shade
as English as the Everglades
you dredge mud and find amethyst
dig out pearls with a jagged guitar
At night you light pagan pyres
come morning blowing them out
like a birthday candle
with a she-wolf huff and puff
Church fathers tremble
at your naked face
your green water glide
your fifty foot howl
your blues foot stamping
the chalk cliffs in to the sea
They have seen you at play
in that wilderness of wildness
unavailable to men
seen you at work
reclaiming the swamp
building your own
Doge-free Venice
your own Luxor
of Gothic towers
bursting with banshees
twisted Cinderellas
and Sheena na Gigs
Now your guitar is in the way
Your hands need to be free
to whirl and twirl your silver topped cane
to make a new face
a new red ribbon mouth
to try on shiny things
You hitch your star to no bandwagon
You follow the sea-road of the soul
Your next step is unknown and yet foretold
in the farmhouse kitchen tea-leaves
in the light bulb crystal ball
in the street corner puddle reflecting the moon
It’s all there in the swirl
in the confluence of rivers that meet in you

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~ This piece was posted on Wednesday, May 7th, 2008 and was filed under Writing, Poetry. You can make comments on it below. ~