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For love of a Medici by Victoria Mosley
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
‘’The most powerful of Victoria’s novels, where past and present fuse effortlessly and the supernatural romance works totally and beautifully. ’’
(John Richard Parker)
The old year gasps its last
hovers on the edge of oblivion
we clamour in the dark
shadow sun’s pale rays
living the morning
hoping for the day
to linger.
Like the white rabbit
I’m chasing light
storm pounds the roof
thought flickers body lingers
too long on the edge of sleep
breathing in
breathing out.
From window
chimneypot, rooftop
a shiver of blue sky
tree bare grasping high
green buds promise
an end to this
ache of cold dark day
as New Year beckons
with invisible finger.
White rose grows
on winter branch
this Christmas day
you sent to me
all the way
from nowhere.
You always placed
one on my tray
a breakfast treat
& I can say
you were the first,
maybe the last:
my grandpa sent
to save me.
Sea shells whorls
essential oil
the garden glistens
all thoughts of winter gone:
a white rose grows
from far beyond
your love meant
to grace me.
Pretty day:
bird song rose sky
many I have loved
far away:
you came to call
after all this time
a strange small man
who crossed a line
& once had tried to own me.
Pretty day
fox in the hedge
another year another tale
right on the edge of telling
I started tall
have grown so stiff
full throttle living
of all of this.
Pretty day
you came to call
those kohl rimmed eyes
& rainbow tears
but it’s true that I felt
nothing.
Crossing from Battersea
brown bottled river;
you going North, me trudging South
our fingers stretched to elastic
our footsteps sticky as we pull apart.
Your kisses always taste
like sunshine, light a fire
to steam London drizzle
into Rome twilights.
Our words paint pictures
in the air, I see you watch
my lips move:
imagining the taste of the sentences
swallowing my song.
You’ve watched me slide
through another’s fingers
noted the curves I’ve inspired,
only another pair of brown
anonymous eyes.
Light grows a minute a day
this time of year
and our kisses on street corners
grow pink blossom in January,
while sun meanders scantily.
We remember no huge
“forever”
yet forever is where,
we always reside.
Red
One lone rose
at the turning of the year
one lone rose
red for the love we bore.
One lone rose
my garden grows for us
hid in piles of rotting leaves
tree black fingers point
at perpetual grey.
I dream more of sleep
than love these days.
One red rose this day
bleeds its life for you, for me.
Snow blew in over sea
wind straight from Siberia
snuffed the sounds of night;
fox bark, owl hoot, bat flight.
Dawn was kind this time
myriad sparkle coloured snow
white blossom cascading from
my tree.
A perfect dusting of sky ice
lingered on the virgin snow,
wires hung heavy insulated
out of sight & the rooftops
lost their dowdy light
morphing to white dove feathers
leaving me, wide awake, see through
snapping at the brink of the year.
Determined this time to settle in,
bunk down, search for light
determined this year to hold my nerve
& hang on tight.
Victoria Mosley 
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