Drop
first floating, then thick, heavy,
repetitive, too out of tune.
A repeat that will not fade out.
The tap locked. Windows closed.
No escape from interlocking sound.
In others it’s an uncuttable record.
No pause. No erasure. No lightening
of the load. It just is. Unstoppable.
the end never in sight, but shrouded,
somewhere deep into dark.
A well no one throws a coin in.
if you cannot find your voice.
In the tumult. In the wilderness.
Out there in the nothing it now is.
We scurry forth like ants, directionless,
seek solace, a guide, a measure of the thing.
And the world ticks on, full-forward,
while we sit staring at the clock now locked.
if you choose to stare into it too long.
A walkway can become too narrow,
the memory of a raindrop the weightiest load.
Just a postcard with a benign address,
stamped with a face you never knew.
Tuesday 15 October 2024
A Poem a Day (693): Drop
A Poem a Day (692): Solace
Solace
shutters clamped,
the blue wrestles in,
motions in
the egg-yolk sun full-stamped
with sweeps
of white, pink streaks of light.
Left to our
solitary reinvented selves
we climb
the walls of our cluttered minds,
think upon
boredom as a quieting sigh,
make plans
only to procrastinate and dream
a while.
starlight flown
across a void of dark voices,
countering
the elements, seldom reined back,
and we
stack our dreams against twilight’s verse.
We will be
lost until we are found.
Above, the
blackbirds sit lulled into silence
as we wander
barefoot through dewy grass,
peek through
jaded leaves to see the dawn
blink in.
and we rise
with the lark, open senses,
welcome the
day in mindful gratitude,
curious to see
in another year’s restart.
Open a
book, pick up a pen, visual on paper,
play a
note, sing a lullaby, greet the early bird.
We hunt
inspiration outside our sheltered selves,
seek conversation
and a connection in time,
become alive.