My mind is empty, a dim-lit cove where
Words drift as dust between the twisted hulks
Of rusting thoughts: grand plans for poems and
Stories now like once-proud ships, marooned on
Today's jagged rocks, and me, their captain,
Beaten, as tiredness bleeds from eye and ear.
I fear this ruin of the dream, of me,
Forced to shore and shelter by those ruthless
Privateers: Ordinary and Mundane;
I fear that unseen shiv, the knife of years,
Wielded by those ancient yet familiar
Cut-throat thieves: Age and Death and Solitude.
I blame the Sirens' hymns that mesmerised,
Filling me with a swashbuckler's fancy;
I blame the wreckers' lamp that drew me here,
That saw me grounded in familiar straights;
And now, in the bounds of this cold, dry harbour,
No fierce wind to fill these slack, tattered sails,
I sit and watch and hope, my bones weary,
Praying for the flood that might lift me free.
YOU ARE READING
Fragments And Reflections
PoetryPoems looking at everything and anything not in my other collections. Here you'll find life and time, wild oceans and lonely coast paths, busy streets and empty hotel rooms, wild concerts and late night writing. All just fragments and reflections, l...