Friday, August 3, 2012

The Low Road

Without the dark,
All-encompassing, comforting,
How would we know light?

If I could not see your face as I rise in the morning, I doubt
whether I would get up at all.
Such a rose.

Now endure this ray of sunshine,
get up, get up,
a new light is taking flight.

To mope/to wallow, perhaps just fallow,
there is more to life than this.

Follow perpetually (there is no such thing),
This contemptible affliction.
The crush will. Become a dramaturgical fixation,
despair and inability to go forth –
even from bed.

Every day.



It has been too long - still, sometimes the creative river suffers drought too (how pretentious is that!) - if writing is a habit, a routine, a drive, then perhaps I am truly paralysed in plundering forth... Still, occasionally, an inkling takes hold. An idea formulates. The pen touches paper... and I remind myself that I am capable. If nothing else.

Drop me a comment on this new poem below (and/or the new one above).


All soles, mighty, stock-still
sufferingly glued to the ground.
A sudden sense of the metaphysical,
acknowledged; unwillingly quizzical,
rigid, fearful. Muted sound.


Such a wonderful word!
Inspiring dexterity of the tongue,
demanding understanding – immobility of nightmares.
Whereupon awake, drookit with sweat, into it stares.
Embrace physical disability, no longer young.


Fear of fear itself,
a reason by which not to move at all?
Rooted inactivity, unintentionally profound,
this voyage of privilege has run aground.
Eternal stasis, preparing to fall.