Willowdown

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Peter Crossland
aka Willowdown

November 1953 -- February 2016

In Loving Memory
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Somewhere not so far away


In the fabulous forests
of the eternal, creative mind
where bespectacled monkeys
write long-winded stories,
while eating alphabet stew
of how they outwitted wise tigers,
(and it has to be said,
less clever ones too)
there sat upon the ground
drawing the morning dew,
that's where I may well find you.

Let me interupt this poem
for a quick second or two,
I know what you're thinking,
'Get on with it you buffoon!',
but I have a dilemma,
and in other circumstances
this would have thrown me
right out to sea,
those flippin' monkeys have left,
and so after a further minute's thought
(must make this poem short)
I'm going to give the spectacles
to educated birds instead.

So, for love, pecans and glory,
little birds will continue the story
of lazy lions, and of leotard leopards,
treacherous toads, and faeries in hats.
(and of the flaming Phoenix too
if they've encounterd that)
and of tap dancing ants
wearing neon, sparkly pants,
who perform on the tusks of elephants,
as they tread over jungle paths.
There, where the willows settle
and find a downy home,
that's where I think you may roam.

There you will be, foraging
for buried typewriter keys
under those dear willow trees,
aided with a troop of parakeets
(because how they love to please)
and we'll watch parrots draw murals
all over lost temple walls
because they learned long ago
what a colourful tail can do.
Yes, I'm sure that's where
I may well find you.

You'll be smiling, deep in thought,
picking up ink ribbons
with impressions of Thai sunsets,
distant stars, and there will certainly be
a nefarious Orange Thing cat
and we'll chat about this and about that,
and above us butterflies will depart
off to the tops of the trees
with a certain grace and with art-

and there, Pete,
I know you'll see another story to start.

Matt Clendon © 2016
photo by Matt Clendon
photo by Willowdown