opal / syd

In a back
room scratching paintbrushes on

stretched canvas,

a hedgerow

the smell of summer clings on

to long
now

washed away

while the strings that tie,

that bind,

hidden behind

a mothers apron.

Lost,

inside tangled wires.

A chemical imbalance? Maybe,

somewhere a dog pined for you?

at the garden gate
the smell of gardenia and fuchsia, a hedge

cobwebs,

the
garden shed.

A portrait scratched on canvas

you don’t look the same from this angle

at this distance of years, in this light,

you’ve changed, a tussle of thatched hair,

now a dark globe.

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2 comments

    • eatmorewords

      Hello there Goran, thanks for stopping by. Really glad you liked the poem – always been fascinated with Syd in his old age – hiding back at his mums house – a return to the foetus?

      I don’t know, but crazily interesting!bor just crazy?

      And as for Opal- in the UK there was a best of compilation called Opel an the taped copy I had was spelt incorrectly!!!

      Also checked out your Soundcloud efforts – cool stuff – and I’ll be back to check out more.

      Take care.

      Like

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