The Poem

The poem was waiting,

simmering gently beneath work deadlines

and plans for the weekend.

Lurking way back beneath the bones and simple things,

waiting for the moment,

the right moment to present itself.

At which point

it falls awkwardly into my mind,

an assorted array of images

feelings translated and pictures of head stuff.

Flashes of

wording with no obvious order or arrangement-

a bowl of big flakes,

to be squeezed from my weeping fingertips,

smeared to a page

and given a title-

‘The poem.’


4 thoughts on “The Poem

      1. But the worlds of the spirit are a place where the reality is that there is no up nor down, time goes backwards and reason has nothing to stand on…

        This is why it is essential to grasp the fundamentals of what it is we do when we think.


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