by Jeremy Keighley

In a white wood room

I wrote my name

on the wing of a tiny bird

made daisy chains

in summer fields

lit a candle in a hurricane

drank warm ale

in a pub blue with cigarette smoke

and language

to see you

barefoot in lace

a sardonic Ophelia

who smiled

while the rest of us slid

down dark icy paths

walked through cold rain

our hair gel and mousse

splatted flat.

 

You, unruffled at the corner of the bar

even when you were there

You were never there

only later did we notice

frost and ice had blistered your toes

that your mirror was cracked

your reflection skewed

I thought you immune,

young, as the rest grew old

I never saw

what you saw

who you really were

while you hummed

old English folk songs

to the dulcimer chimes in your head

we battled with wolves

on a wild heath

I brought you purple flowers

for your hair.

Heather picked

from the moors

 

 

Jeremy Keighley was born and bred in Derbyshire, England and studied Comparative literature at the University of Essex. He moved to Vienna and then Amsterdam and has spent half his life living abroad. He now lives in Alkmaar, NL and works (non-poetically) in Amsterdam. Jeremy is a performing poet and has released 3 CDs with music by 3-Bop (Monkey Puzzle, Ophelia and Sandstorm). In his spare time he is also a long-distance runner, but has yet to find a way to combine this with writing poetry. He is married and has 4 children. He has poems published in various magazines including : Subdream Vienna, Lunar Poetry (London), Alkmaar Anders (Alkmaar NL), Fuselit Magazine (London) and Birdbook 2. Jeremy has one completed, but unpublished novel and is currently working on his second.

Photo credit: Carl Revell

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