Winter sky

048

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 silent023.JPG

 

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.