Last night I went to a creative writing meetup in an old council building colonised by artists. You can tell when a place has been colonised by artists because you find hands sticking out of the ceiling and have to interrupt people spinning staffs (or is it staves??) to get out.
We were led through a series of writing exercises intended to loosen up our brains and spent the final 20 minutes writing whatever we wanted that incorporated all of those exercises. This is my poem. I honestly have no idea where this came from. My beloved in this piece is a fictional construct – don’t want you thinking my Tim is a liar!
This is based on a blazon list poem, which is one listing the qualities of a loved one – My love is like a red, red rose etc. you know the type!
My beloved liar springs on cushions of fantasy, softening his nightly fall to earth.
No wings of icarus steel for him, no soaring flight.
My beloved shakes the earth daily with his falsity then enfolds it into himself as he sleeps, ready again for another day’s lying.
My beloved casts himself a new face to face each frightened morning. He slips on his new life coat and slipshod shoes and offers himself a sacrifice to the world.
My beloved stands apart from me, proud outline on a hilltop. Massed hysteria heaps rubbish on his head but he is still.
My beloved remakes the world each night, by day his lies sustain him in his earthen carapace, absorbed by his skin, evening by evening.
I see my beloved, soft, meandering skin, stroke his fingers, sigh beside him.
My beloved lays dying. Sun scorching his favourite armour. I do not recognise this face but I know his spirit because it is gone.