the man of her dreams

He came to her in her dreams.  At first a gentle zephyr … a little breath of wind tugging at her unconscious mind. Then he took shape; solid and real.  A great sasquatch of a man, who gathered her up in his arms, and filled her with love and hope.  “Delicious Angel,” he breathed and she unfurled like a delicate flower and laid her head upon his beating heart.  She felt his love fuse into her body and communicate with her soul. Safe and warm she breathed in his essence; sourced from the earth itself; natural and wild, sprinkled with beauty from every creature that had ever lived.  Her eyes filled with joyful tears, and as they peppered her cheeks, he gently brushed them away. “Cry, little one,” he murmured, ‘cry for the joy of life and the wonder of what is yet to come. Do not despair, fill yourself with hope and love and nothing else will matter.”

She looked at him with sadness in her eyes. “I wish I’d met you long ago. I could feel that something was missing, but I didn’t know what it was.  So I made my choice, believing it would fill that emptiness inside of me.  And it did for a while.  But I lost all sense of myself.  Put aside my dreams. And now I am committed to a lifetime of responsibility.  Oh, sasquatch! Truth and love surges through me, when I think of you and all that you stand for.  And I stretch and stretch until I feel I will burst, but I am trapped … I cannot be freed, until I have met my responsibilities on earth.”

“Then I shall wait for you delicious Angel … up there in the mountains you love so much.  Free your spirit now and then and soar with me over the peaks and delight in being free; and when you feel the pull of obligation, go back for a while and do what you feel is important.  But remember, I will always be with you; in your heart and soul, for we are connected. We have known each other in other times and places, long ago … and we will always recognise each other, wherever we find ourselves.”

And as quickly as he appeared, he vanished and she felt the sharp pang of loss like a knife cutting through to the soul.  She awoke, trembling, filled with joy and love, but overwhelmed with sadness.   She gathered her husband in her arms and pressed her head upon his chest.  Confused by her tears, he told her he loved her.  “You mustn’t cry,” he said, “everything is okay.”  And he snuggled into her and fell back to sleep.  But somehow she didn’t feel okay.

Deep in her soul, she felt something stirring. A burst of energy that forced her to twist and contort. Oh how she wished she could shed her skin and be free. Then she remembered the unconditional love of the man of her dreams, and a sudden calmness washed over her.  She closed her eyes once more, and drifted into a peaceful sleep.

 

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a man who cried for me

That day
When you broke down

I held you in my arms,
Astonished by your pain.

I had used up all my tears,
Long since our ‘child’

Had ripped away.

But you? You were so calm.
So matter of fact.

I thought
you hadn’t cared.

Now I understood.
You’d saved your tears
For me.

Feared my loss
More than any child who
‘might have been.’

I’d never known such love.

I cradled you that day
And stroked your hair. Silently
Swallowing my pain.

Marveling at what I’d gained.
A man who cried for me.

Mandy Edwards (c) 2017

 

The Monarch

The Monarch

One warm and sunny Christmas day,
A Monarch butterfly sailed away.
Her wings sun kissed, her colours bright,
She’d been transformed in the night.

For like the babe on Christmas morn,
The time was right to be reborn.
A bright new flame to light the way,
This warm and sunny Christmas Day.

Mandy Edwards. (c) 2017

 

A nonsense poem

Petrichor Pete ran down the street,
His univocal all of aquiver,
Desperate to see his sweetheart’s pugree,
But alas she wouldn’t deliver.

With a toss of her gossamer, she was away
As fast as her pastiche allowed,
Her seraglio loose like a susurrus goose,
As she sashayed her way through the crowd.

Pete used his frugal to shout like a bugle,
His dulcet fair dripping with sweat,
But soon it was lithe that his bombinate wife,
Had no interest in muzzling him yet.

So Petrichor Pete with wherewithal feet,
Nefariously wandered back home,
For lack of pugree, I think you’ll agree,
Means man must languor alone.

 

Mandy Edwards © 2017

A Villanelle

Cock a doodle doo.

I squeeze shut my eyes; put a pillow on my head,
It’s three in the morning and its dark outside,
Cock a doodle doo, the roosters said.

Three-thirty comes as I wriggle in bed,
The rain pelts down; all sleep is denied.
I squeeze shut my eyes; put a pillow on my head

There’s nothing to do, my book is read,
It’s four in the morning and hope has died,
Cock a doodle doo, the roosters said.

The cat is purring and its fur has shed,
My nose starts to tickle; the clock ticks, “Five,”
I squeeze shut my eyes; put a pillow on my head.

Five bloody thirty, all sleep has fled,
I’ve cursed all the pleasures of the country side,
Cock a doodle doo, the roosters said.

“It’s six.  Rise and shine,” the old man said,
He’s stone deaf and all bushy eyed.
I squeeze shut my eyes; put a pillow on my head,
Cock a doodle doo, the roosters said.

Mandy Edwards © 2017