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