Wednesday 27 July 2011


story wavers
words shimmer
  i reach but cannot grip

sense remains
sense prevails
              i give up

words go back in single file
along the bleak marches
all the way back into
that dark country
of the unimagined


anna tambour said...

"i reach but cannot grip"

Don't beat yourself up about it. You'd identified the story but...

Pens are like cops. There's never one around when you need one.

JP said...

At least I got a poem out of it!

anna tambour said...

Yes, you did. And not only that, but your report of where the words went when they deserted you should teach fresh ones to stick by you, unless they have some kind of bleak wish.