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Monday 10 March 2014

Familiar

So that is the holiday over
That is the holiday done
It’s been an odd old time
I fear for my oldest son

Yet how might I have lived
In a small house, no work
Nothing much to aim for
But pastimes & a dog to run

That we don’t communicate
Itself a self evident truth
I broke him as a young boy
My parting was a loaded gun

Lust took me from his mother
My ambition; to set myself free
All I wanted wasn’t enough
After the rough I chased the fun

He doesn’t like what he sees
Thinks I’m full of fancy stuff
A tuppence a’penny millionaire
See, it is his clarity that I shun


This is a poem from Vagaries:
Love of The Key to Room 149
Available as ebook from Kindle
or as a homemade print book and audio cd from  poetryshop