Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Friday, 10 February 2012
I have taken a lot of pleasure
From this paper and this pen
Difficult to commence
Indefinable intent
In between: visions
Missions from black to gold
Lullabies, heaven sent
Pleasures taken for real
By the person
Not simply the pen lent
Wherever I began
Not to know
Whatever was meant
In between, loss of control
Flotillas of clouds
Windblown thoughts bent
a poem from the collection Watercombe - Love in Open Moorland, available from itunes by clicking on this link