Today, shadows of swifts
swirled
over the bleached road surface,
up the red brick wall,
became flesh in the
clear blue sky
for a moment,
then again silhouettes,
swooped down the
apartment block
and again
seemingly unceasing
in spheres
of silence.
I am afraid of flatlining;
forty-eight dots on the WordPress
navigation bar
haunt my waking moments.
Ooooh the thrill of the tall
proud towers of views;
a forest of admiration;
peaks of blog achievement
I could almost stick my flag in.
I try to rationalise the valleys of
(invisibility)
which only occur (be reasonable)
when many other very
fulfilling and important
things are going on in the
real world.
The data analytics inner self
is not convinced.
We are losing momentum!
This is our chance! Where is our poem
producer? Nail her to her desk!
I try ignoring those dots…
It’s important for an artist to have
fallow period, I offer the comfort
of metaphors from the natural world.
All futile. ‘If a tree falls in a wood
with no one to hear it’, or something?
Bottom line? I don’t exist now.
When I signed up for this,
I had no idea that the dots were
taking over.
I was thinking of your birthday;
‘A helium balloon!’ I cried to myself
(internally as there was no one
around to hear me).
I waited til the day before
to buy it as I did not want
even a sniff of helium to escape
or bring it too soon
down to earth.
That day, I forgot where
the helium balloon shop was
had to double back on myself.
I walked in triumphant
‘A birthday balloon’, I asked the
shop assistant. The store was
filled with valentines
that crowded out the ‘normal range’.
I didn’t think you would like
a balloon loudly proclaiming ’40!!!!!’
or Olaf or the one from Planes.
A momentary qualm assailed me;
was my helium balloon plan to be
thwarted by the patron saint of love?
On the contrary! The saint of love
smiled down fondly; a red heart
helium balloon perfectly fit the brief.
a heart for love,
a heart for hopes and dreams,
a heart for passions and adventures,
a heart for you.
‘Oh, that one please, on the
longest red string!’ The jaunty
foil heart balloon reached boldly to the sky.
I could not bear to
imprison it in a plastic carrier.
It is not what helium balloons
were made for.
I basked in the smiles of passers-by
as I wended my way home
thinking of your birthday.
‘She will be so pleased!’ I said
to myself. ‘No one else will have
thought of such a thing.’
The happy balloon, full of love
and excitement, bobbed up and down,
couldn’t wait to meet you.
It was a windy day; perhaps I should have been wiser.
In a moment, the companion attached to my wrist
was gone.
Oh! I looked up: A red heart took flight
into the street, up, up,
above the silver birch tree lines.
Up, up, UP, riding thermals beyond
the multi-storey car park.
Up consorting with the seagulls.
I saw it last as it bobbed behind
the church spire; a heart and a cross.
To infinity and beyond.
I wanted to give a heart
for your birthday – for love, for hopes,
for passion, for you.
But the heart wanted to give you a poem,
Show you that your hopes and dreams soared to
dance with the angels,
to mingle with the stars.
Show you that the heart is free;
and alive and full of grace
and beauty.
That nothing can hold it back.
extraplorer 