fragments for a note book

My step dad rang me from Spain, said he wants to live with me & is that alright? do I want him, etc; love him. I said Yes. He’s drunk a bit again & crying but so what – because he’s lonely, misses me. I haven’t seen him in 10 years & we can’t afford the fare, neither of us, & then there’s Immigration. He’s 71 & it’s too late. But anyway,

he won’t come. Partly because he can’t.

 

2

Wednesday. This is the kind of thing I don’t care for. But

 

today’s different.                    I want

it to mean                              the extra-

ordinary,                                 something

else – a date                            to circle

the lakes,                                 you.

 

I don’t need any-thing, but to

feather your hair in

sunlight;

 

flowers

agree,                                      say Yes to the

breeze,

flies, the hum

of humans,

shoes on the path                   2

feet

away.

 

At night, the scent

of gardens, the warm

blast of contact, salt

air.

 

3

I mistook the dew

for stars; the dazzled leaves

beneath the moon.

 

The night is cool to catch

the breath.

5 thoughts on “fragments for a note book

  1. ‘To feather your air in sunlight’ has such yearning in it, amico, a crushing tenderness. Indeed, the night’s cool to catch our breath after all such splendour. The whole thing, the deletion, all works for me too!

  2. thanks John. yeh, i thought so too. wrote it just to start writing something, but it was rubbish so i struck a line across it with my pen, & i thought: that’s better!
    & thanks Dean. true: i remember

  3. As I’ve said before, sort-of, a long ways back, somewhere always is the poet in the poem, and is what interests me most: our quest to pen the poetic diary…to ‘want it to mean the extra-ordinary’; when content and author sync; what to include, and what to embellish, and the subtlies of attraction or repulsion.

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