When you fall in love with a dead poet, they have you for life.

As well as screenwriting, I also like to dabble with a little poetry every now and then. I wrote this poem a couple of years ago, which I thought I would share with you whilst I’m formulating and deciding what to write about next in my next blog post. I’m currently caught between a couple of ideas I’d like to discuss in connection with writing and the film and TV industry.

Meanwhile, I thought you might like to read this…


She thought herself barren and scorched to the bitter end

Like the quicksilver wouldn’t flow, nor the flame would yield and bend

She became like dust and ash swirling in a void of streaming senses

They’d gone.  She was set adrift, floating on a still black sea; intense.

The Mistress was left bereft.  Nothing but starched White Noise

Where had all her play things gone? Her toys?

Everywhere had become a scene of shifting shadows; black, white and grey

It was forever an ocean of yesterdays, tomorrows and the endless today.

Was this the work of Zeus gone awry or The Sorcerer’s gift?

Without or within, where is the epicentre of that constant shift?

The mind points southward to the heart’s malaise

There came a deep thunderous rumble in the distant haze

Lightning struck the forests in the midst of the night

Out popped the eyes a wandering and all shining bright

Sparks bit into the furnace of her desires

Flames kissed, hissed and crackled. She felt inspired.

Walls shattered, rooftops blew off, and the light shone in.

Finally, finally she could see with an artisan’s crystal glass eye and begin.

Halcyon flew down to his Mistress and sat upon her head

He blinkered her eyes, clothed her ears and there made himself a bed

So, to engrave his wit of the kindling kind

With a puff he blew out the dust to create a mind; refined.

T’was as if Minerva and Persephone had melted and entwined

If only the inward eye could make fashion with passion the ink with the visions combined!

Sweet elixirs of blues, reds and greens he nestles upon her crown

Such a kaleidoscopic landscape only a carousing fool would claim their own

Coursing through her veins he shot liquid gold and silver that he’d blown

Its tincture seemed to almost brush her very marrowbone.

Only then would they come in numbers of ten thousand. No, more!

When she lifted her mind to the stars and swept up stardust from Nirvana’s floor

Could she leave that mortal coil and enter Athena’s pleasure dome

And discover therein the changeling that makes Liberty their home.

She at once lifted her inner eye to the forgotten land

And touched the undiscovered country, where it would always stand

She sunk into Chimera’s harvest and wandered the corridors.

Here lies a place with no nadir, zenith or horizon; not even windows, doors or floors.

This faceless, mystical stranger she clung to her breast to become an instant friend

For in her heart she knew it would all too rapidly come to an end.

With that super natural creature she’d slipped into a another space,

Where the great mystery wore an altogether different virgin’s face.

With materials so poor to attempt to meet the visceral core to the point

And with already distant echoes, the silent mystery it does attempt to anoint

It could not leave a stain upon the brain. All this is done in the twinkling of an eye.

To then set to making what can only be a poor imitation with the dye!

She knew she should muster her courage and dive into the sublime,

Because she knew she’d already been kissed at least once by Old Father Time.

The heavy heart knew dawn would break and they’d fly back and all would be the same

And nothing but walls and shadows; black, white and grey would remain.

For anyone interested, it was inspired by my passion and admiration for William Blake, who I fell head over heels in love with while I was at university. Not only was I captured by his beautiful poetry (and his accompanying etchings) and his strong visual sense that he uses throughout his poems but also by the man himself; his character, his life and his somewhat unorthodox philosophies to both life itself, his work and those around him, at least for a man who lived in the Eighteenth century. Having become captivated by Blake, I even started to dream about the man on a regularly basis and this in turn inspired me to think about future projects, but I’ll leave that for another time.


2 thoughts on “When you fall in love with a dead poet, they have you for life.

  1. I have also been inspired and captivated by William Blake. As you say, not only his work but the man himself. I often think about him and find it terribly sad that he was undervalued in his own lifetime. A wonderful man of vision and genius.

    • Thanks for commenting. Yes, I do believe that Blake was both undervalued and misunderstood in his own lifetime. He was rather private and only shared his work with a relatively small number of people within his circle. This may have hindered him when it comes to selling his work and finding a wider audience.

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