In May 2024 I was published as part of an official event in Mauritius for the International Dylan Thomas Day with my poem, At Last, my Love, my Foxy Darling. Thankyou to Vatsala Radhakeesoon for this…

[Nell Jones]

In May 2024 I was published as part of an official event in Mauritius for the International Dylan Thomas Day with my poem, At Last, my Love, my Foxy Darling. Thankyou to Vatsala Radhakeesoon for this opportunity

Nell Jones
Australia

At Last, my Love, My Foxy Darling.

(After Gossamer Beynon)

In the morning light,
The daybreak rush is over,
And Llarregubb sits quiet.

Parading her best cotton dress,
Gossamer Beynon, schoolteacher,
Lovesick,
Sits at high table, sighs,
And supposes, her steamy bedfellow,
Sinbad Sailor, who will never be her beau.

And she picks at her food, like a sparrow.

Garden greens yard grown, last night’s, leftovers,
Fish heads, and tip bits, hot pot turnovers.
Piping hot Welsh cakes, cockles, and rarebit,
Pea soup and corn crab and fish flavoured stew.
Laver bread, kippers, and cheese melt fondue,
Hobnob through Donkey Street, sing ballyhoo,
To nibble on giblets, otter, and shrew,
And sing bloody murder from inside Bayview.

Potatoes in jackets, sit comfy and snug,
Mice in the larder, hide under the jug,
Oh Sinbad, she smiles with his name on her lips,
I’m through with these lunchtime kidney and chips.
But the afternoon bell beckons, in monotonous tones,
Dinging and ringing, the tintinnabulation moans.
She stands, and flutters out like a moth,
Filled to the brim with vegetable broth.
She tells herself, today is the day,
She will tip him a wink,
Or scratch him a note, written in best ink.

Her red stilettoes sing in salacious tones,
Down to the Sailor’s Arms.
High heels hit the cobble,
Tip, tap, click clack,
Two stones clanging,
Click, clack, clock.
Sinbad Sailor, lovestruck, chest puffed out,
Warbles like a Stone Chat,
At the passing dream of his desires.

Perched high above his morning brew,
Still hanging from last night’s, hullabaloo,
He bows to greet her, his ice maiden fail,
Full of brave sorrow, and passion frail,
‘Here’s to me, Sinbad’ he says, heartbreak drowned,
And she slides by, right past him, her eyes to the ground. 

‘I want to gobble him up.’

Oh, Gossamer B,
So proud and so free,
I pine for you,
Like a selkie for the sea.

Oh, Gossamer, Gossamer, Gossamer B,
Let me peel away, your frilly, flowered frock,
Down to your stockings and stays.
Come ride with me, on the ship bobbing sea,
Be there roses for you and garlands for me.

‘Be still, so that I may absorb you.’
And he downs the last of his beer, with sonnets in his head.

I want to be your lover,
When the light out dies each night,
And the moon throws its caring arms around us.

I want to be your friend
On the tide of every wave,
Even when you rise and fall.

I want to be your love,
All bed cosy, in the twinkle of the dusk,
Shipwreck me gentle, then rock me to sleep.
Under the starshine, so warms in its peep.

At last, this is the place, my love,
My foxy darling,
Oh, Gossamer B,
Come lay with me.
Come join me, in the sand sifted air,
Between river and harbour,
Ocean and wave.

But now the day has gone all foggy,
and she seems to have slipped away.   

Oh Gossamer…
And he picks at his teeth with a pin. 

https://vatsalaradwritingworld.home.blog/page/3/