Creature of Love
It was cold in his shack and rain squeezed through gaps in the walls
Built as a summer retreat near the beach during prosperous times
A single door creaked under an onslaught of memories and drizzle
Oh well Dylan Thomas wrote in his Boat House
Waves reaches foundations erected on shifting sands and firm beliefs
Thunder resembled turmoil and salt of the earth in search of a home
A sea weed mattress moulded his mind into drift wood of dilapidation
The Old Man by the Sea and no fish in sight
He was freezing his hands stiff and stringent merely holding the pen
Once more he cursed arthritis and age and icy ink in mere circulation
His gaze fell upon a ceiling which suspended possessions and dreams
Carl Spitzweg The Poor Poet umbrella in hand
When the tide reached his shaky resilience and vanishing aspirations
He succumbed to the dire question of how to use the last bit of paper
Buried nearby the iron cast stove which was an alcove to his lost hearth
Dorothy Parker You may as well Live
As frost set in and he hesitantly resolved to kindle a dim meagre fire
Piled bits of a sodden wooden crate onto an opening for new beginnings
He rubbed his fingers and rejoined the quill adorning his crooked grip
No one can make this decision but me
When flames of near forgotten passion flickered a few shadows of hope
He required no pages to write to his lover in the realm of infinite script
The sepia photograph was faded but the picture held court in his heart
He draped an octopus around star fish and dolphins
23rd January 2020
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