Poem 4 U
I've been sitting on posting this for some time - it's one from the portfolio. I keep wanting to fancy it up. Never pleased with my language. This is a case of 'Emotions from the Archives', a bit of distance is always the best way, but past certain markers perhaps it affects the clarity. Maybe would be a good/bad name for an anthology. Disclaimer: This is not about the Beatles, or cult homicide.
‘Autumn ardour to burst upon a tome…’
Autumn ardour to burst upon a tome
of a helter-skelter, mattress un-life.
Neither suspect any of fates’ succor,
as address stumbles into correct surmise.
All those things are a hopeful stones’ throw,
from words that should in fact, write themselves.
But two-o’clock fingers of the sun go
walking on plain pages and burn small eyelets
in the will to survive a non-event,
after non-event, breaking a tiny breach,
(for want of use, all but drained, will to engage)
opened in the paper by a blunting of belief.
Meaning – ‘nothing’, that’s what this means to me,
black-bird in flight, flitting between bending houses.
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