Will do became didn’t.
One day never came.
Dreams to be special.
Up ended the same.
Downplaying desire.
Safe settled at ease.
Boats never rocked.
Harbour over high seas.
Sheltered from risk
and uncertainty.
Cure worse than disease.
Mediocrity.
Striving for perfect.
A sterile fixation.
Right favoured over
imagination.
The realisation
a waking nightmare.
Emboldened to face
mortality’s dare.
Born less-ordinary.
Lear’s runcible baby.
Passion and purpose.
Magic and maybe.
poetry of shadow-boxing…it feels like the first trickle
Not sure how to take that.
Like there might be 30 years of poetry waiting to be unleashed?
Or that I’m trying the ice one step at a time?
yes, comment wasn’t clear. poetic catharsis, I think I meant— the poem as punching bag, each word a blow..if is it about relationship frustration…And the ‘trickle’ was the feeling it could turn into a river of discharge
yes, it’s tight. ‘Lear’s runcible baby’ i like. curious
Thanks Mark!
Spare and lovely.
Thanks John. I appreciate the feedback from you all. Thanks for taking the time. I especially like it when the feedback uses an interesting and considered word or phrase, ‘Spare and lovely’ has got me thinking. Thanks again. Ngā mihi nui.
No problem. Always a pleasure to read your work and that of others.