I Write

There is sadness, is that not one of the reasons I go there; four down beats to every five beat bar, or five to every seven on an upbeat kind of day

Beats and bars and sweet sorrowful music to coincide with the tides ebb and flow; compelled by what's lost and what's not to be; to tell the truth how can we be swell yet at the same time dwell on the past presented by itself

There is hurt and pain, it is more than one half of what drives me; the coiled spring that energises the clock when otherwise all time seems spent

There are imaginary postulations, which if revealed would for sure embarrass me

I also need to find places to hide those moments of half-belief in ridiculous implausible situations and coincidences

These are daydreams of indiscrete circumstances; premeditations created with wilful invitations, and often in my mind super-sensorially accepted

All this holds at bay the clear and final closure; yes there is upset, the infinite concentration and distillation of years of personal doubt

Yet to give this up, to give up this past, to offer it to flame, is no more or no less than a partial personal cremation; it is too big an ask of this one person

Fires rise, sparks die away, embers glow until the rains come; yet our embers glow long beyond the rainfalls

There is that mouth taste of waste; what a place to take the case to tribunal, there to face the rights and wrongs, to sing the songs of good and bad across Pontius Pilate’s plate of contemplative pebbles

One stays quiet, even with the most direct attack, clearly more had broken down than could be in one mind entertained; that stream of bile on the journey north, what had been done to deserve this, surely tiredness can only accept it's fair share of the blame

I too am tired, tired of all the unease that surrounds me, as though I am the kernel of tiredness, the core of earths negative energy

& so I write with coloured pens, listen to artists in colourful conversation, choose purple as my new seasons colour, re-engage with paisley patterned cotton shirts, resplendent in their blues and berries



a poem from the collection Into the Present Decade - Love with Droplets of Joy available by clicking on the link