Gwendoline’s Mandolin

It was just a bit of old wood
with a few strings attached
when anyone else picked it up.
Some managed a half-decent tune,
others emitted a vibe
of vagabond, Fair-Day busker.
But, when She sat down,
of an evening,
cradling and caressing it
within her tender lap.
The shadows inched forward,
and the campfire,
which centred our small
woodland congregation,
puffed-out its amber and scarlet chest,
sending finger-flaming Dragons skyward.
As the silver notes
patterned intricate,
and the Musical Magic…
carpet-rided our thoughts and cares
over to more enchanting pastures.
The Half-Moon sighed deeply
like a yearning lady expecting reciprocity…
and the excited, little Stars
dropped closer,
then ‘Aww-ed’ themselves brightly… away.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres.  He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.