“Outside it is warm and blue and April.” — Sylvia Plath. This poem is dedicated to the memory of my best friend, Chris Proudfoot, who took his own life 3 years ago today.  "In memoriam: Qui vitam finivit, sed memoria in aeternum vivit."

Forget-me-not blue
blue as an Alaskan blueberry:

Endurance is a flower
a bulb in winter’s depth
a rare-repeated wonder:
a sin we must forget.

In this-world-of-my-creation
in this world-of-make-believe:
cancer, the death of children,
are falling autumn leaves.

I see a road before me
a road I walk in vain
a road through Trawden, Lancashire
a road that’s not the same.

All roads lead to heaven
and all roads lead to you
and all these roads are empty
of eyes of deepest-blue.

I loved the rainy mornings of my life
and I never thought that friendly mountain passes
would ferry me away, like this,
but now happy times are seldom
and the rain runs away with me.

From holiday beach to tempestuous sea
the thunder clouds gather like swarms of angry bees
I have lost my faith in the indomitable sea.
and I have lost my faith in humanity
I sing only one song now.

O! the mechanical movement of the sun
sunshine blooms and nectar spreads
like a tender, living tree
covering all that’s dappled, fair, free
like a changeling in the ocean
like the mermaids in the sea, 
and unlike me.

 

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