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 Jeremy has one completed, but unpublished novel and is currently working on his second.Photo credit: Carl Revell
