Skip to main content

Patterns



I am that pattern she so loved in her life
Now I am tucked in around the sides
As she always liked me to be
She quickly named me
her Cadbury dark chocolate blanket
When things got painfully
Arthritis annoyingly bad
Her aches and pains I dulled
I was her safety net cover
giving her a happy hug of heat
I happily, willingly, lovingly
helped her love her life again
She looked to me many times
for warmth, solace and comfort
When others had without thought
her carelessly abandoned
I was forever there for her
I thought I always would be
She soothingly snuggled
beneath my deep dark brown folds
Now she lies still and cold
beneath my tenebrous brown
soft rose scattered spread
My raspberry pink roses once
matched her rosy cheeks
But now they look out of place
against her cold drawn,
pallid pale expressionless face.
She often times
Said hello to me and then
called me her beautiful blanket
of red raspberry stars
Before this
those very raspberry stars
matched her gilded glow,
before this they matched
her gliding glowing stellar wit
Now I am left like a bitter black
chocolate earthen shroud
Wrapped around her
Small shrivelled
Half-size wasted frame
I don’t want to be used
by anyone else any more
It was she who gave me
the fillip of life and energy
to be more than just a mere blanket.
Please I ask this of you
after I have helped
her finally like this
don’t just put me by
Or store me
in a cupboard high
I do not want to be that forgotten thing
that once was and never again will be
For I never once more
to her will be that mantle
of soft comforting emollient pleasure
Or to be that of welcome warmth
and of cosy consolation
I will no more be any of them
For I am left now,
Like a loyal sentry
to be that floral
soft shroud of pattern
on her death bed.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Protein Man of Oxford Street- Stanley Owen Green.

I wrote this Obituary piece for The Guardian about Stanley Green while I was an undergraduate at Goldsmiths' College.  I contacted The Guardian and asked them if I could submit it for publication. It was sent off to them and I waited in eager anticipation for their reply. It was published on Wednesday January 26th 1994,   the Editor  made no changes or additions except by adding some photographs (the photographs used here are later additions by me): "A Consuming Passion.... Stanley Owen Green who has died aged aged 78, was that tall thin man with steel-rimmed glasses who marched it seemed for an eternity up and down London's Oxford Street. It was his banner that made him famous, held high above his head and proclaiming "LESS LUST FROM PROTEIN" in large white letters. Underneath the banner he endured the taunts of sticky schoolchildren and the spittle of office workers alike, to bring his unique, indeed puzzling message to the people of London. He later wate...
3 comments
Read more

The Roswell Returns

“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” As those words echoed around Mission Control in Houston a round of spontaneous applause broke out across the site and in the control room. There were yelps and hollers of triumph echoing around the whole of NASA that momentous day in July 1969. In the Command Module Michael Collins was monitoring the vital controls that kept it orbiting the Moon. He flipped the carbon dioxide uptake switch, looked at the battery charge meters, oxygen levels and closely watched the radar screen. He sat back in his flight chair and watched the instrumentation flick and whirr. He daren’t relax, he didn’t relax at all. He paid great attention to the radar screen as he was commanded to. He had to monitor it for spooks, intruders or ghosts. He knew he was looking for Foo Fighters. They did show up on radar, aircrews had confirmed that as fact. It was how fast they appeared and disappeared that threw most pilots. There had been warnings by the ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Christmas Gothic - The Sojourn of The Soul

As the man came in from work, he looked on the hall table as he did every night, ostensibly for any letters that had been delivered that day. There were none that day. There was, however, a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. The label on it was addressed to him, ‘To Harry, With Love’ it read. It looked like his wife had bought him a book, which was unusual for her to even go into a book shop let alone buy him a book. He picked it up and felt its weight it was quite a weighty tome. He unwrapped the book and looked at the title: A Goode Wyfe: The Sojourn Of The Soul. He noted the archaic spelling of the title; she had chosen well. It looked very interesting and was certainly very old, the leather binding and the gold lettering on the spine and cover gave that away. It was well thumbed too and the pages fell open on their own.   He looked at the imprint, last imprint 1818, first imprint 1313. He did a quick sum in his head, those two dates added together made 3131, a mirror image ...
Post a Comment
Read more