Listening to Chopins Nocturnes
making bread
a clear winter sky darkens.
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Each word
Each word of a poem is like a tear.
each poem a knowing felt something is shared.
memory is like a broken mirror
so that we are unable to recall the pain
some memories entail
our lives are littered with such shards
Lost in translation
Lost in translation
I lent you a book
shared some knowledge
you made promises
promises to be broken
I struggle with such interaction
I am told it is this age
nothing can be taken for granted
so nothings changed
life is fragile
we who grew up in a certain time
know that
have always known that
nothing can be taken at face value
nothing can be taken for granted
yet I listen to fools
who are taken seriously
facts mean nothing
it’s just your opinion
and if you shout louder
fact means nothing.
I leant you a book
that meant something to me.
Tribute to Eva Hoffman.
On being silent
On being silent
I read to people in large rooms
but I can’t hear myself
I feel constrained
my words seem distant
somehow empty
echoing in an empty room
I feel I’m of another time
a sense of regret
I accepted silence for too long
and now feel that I should return
to a world of silence again.
A shepherd has read
a poem I wrote about him
and now looks at me with a new eye
there is a warmth
that I have honoured him
I am someone who has troubled
to write about him
and given importance to his life.
He said quietly that he took time
to read my words
and smiled.
For William.
In sunlight
Sun low on the horizon
on a winters day
blinds me
but your words
haunt me still.
Marcos Ana Poet
When Che Guevara was killed in Bolivia in 1967 he was carrying a collection of Marcos Ana’s poetry.
Honouring a dead poet
Honouring a dead poet
I immersed myself in your words
I bathed in your wisdom
Your knowledge an ocean
A sea of waves each poem
I allow you to wash over me
You are not still now.
RAC.
