Saturday, 20 June 2015


I have found myself asking lots of questions in my poetry recently. I think they are the questions I should be asking in my head before the poem gets to the page actually. Nothing is really working. 
It will pass. 
These moments when there is no clarity do not last.
Here is the only thing I am half happy with at the moment.
In the National Gallery is a hurrying man.
He spends six seconds photographing each painting in turn,
low light compositions with fourteen mega-pixel clarity.
The artists whisper through his white plastic earplugs,
bigging themselves up, revealing, giving the low down.
He's half way through the building and he's heard it all before.
As he leaves for the next room,
I ponder his actions, they speak in a foreign tongue,
I ask myself is this art?
It was inspired by a man who I saw in the National Gallery doing the exact same thing this week.
I leave you with Tanita Tikaram playing Make the Day.

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